CHAPTER VIII

THE TRUTH AT LAST, THE INCREDIBLE TRUTH! AND HOW THEY FOUGHT FOR THE

SUBMARINE

Just after midnight, my brother and myself sat crouching behind the

bulwarks of the Hulk.

It was the weirdest hour, the strangest scene, that my eyes had ever

looked upon. Snow was falling fast, and yet, somewhere above, there was

a moon. It was all white and ghostly-green, shifting, moving, unreal, as

befitted the horrors which pressed us close. Yet we were exultant; I can

testify to that. "The Judge was set, the doom begun"; in our hearts was

the fiery certainty of success.

In the deck-house were Bernard's three men, Scarlett, Adams, and

Bosustow--all of whom had served with him in his own ship. Below, in the

saloon, Doris, old Lieutenant Murphy of the Coastguards, and the two

Dickson boys were waiting.

Let me give the very briefest resumé of events up to the present.

Dickson major had fulfilled his trust. He had taken Marjorie Joyce to

Mrs. Wordingham at the inn; then he had come to us with the bag of

papers. He had told us everything. All we told Doris was that her sister

had been taken to the inn and that her stepfather was arrested at the

school. We had to keep Doris with us for a time, but old Lieutenant

Murphy, who was now entirely in our confidence, would take her back to

the village when the adventure of the night was over. His car was

waiting there and Doris and Marjorie would both find refuge with Mrs.

Murphy at Cockthorpe.

The prisoners, Kiderlen-Waechter and the German boatswain, had been

moved into the galley, where one of the lads was watching them.

It was cold beyond thinking. The snow fell softly on us till we were

blanketed with white. Bernard was whispering.

"You see, old John, I look at it this way. When we searched

Kiderlen-Waechter an hour ago we found the signal. Doris translated it

for us. The lamp is lit in that box they fitted up so carefully in the

bows. It can only be seen straight up the Creek. They'll make for that."

"What do you think it is?"

"They've spoken of it as 'She'--it's a boat, of course. I should say

either one of those wretched little coasters, or possibly even a

fishing-smack. She'll stand a mile out at sea and they'll row into the

Creek with a longboat, for the plans. There is a huge manoeuvre

on--what it is we can't tell yet, and it's touch and go to-night whether

we snooker them or whether we don't. You are ready for anything?"

"Anything! So old Upjelly's dead, and poor little Lockhart!"

"He died for his country, as you and I may do to-night, old John. Shed

the sentimental tear on some future occasion. What?"

His voice rose a little. Scarlett, who was on the look-out, had crept

along the deck and touched Bernard on the shoulder.

"Come forrard, sir, if you please," the man said in a hoarse whisper. He

could hardly get the words out, and at first I thought his teeth were

chattering with cold, but it was not so.

We crept to the bows of the Hulk and peered over the broken, rotting

taffrail. Two feet below was the beam of the signal lamp shining up the

creek towards the sea. The snow had temporarily stopped in this part of

the marsh and the moon was bright. Thirty Main stretched away ahead as

far as we could see, two hundred yards long and a hundred wide, of

black, gleaming steel. The tide was full at flood.

Scarlett handed my brother a pair of night-glasses. Bernard gazed

through them for twenty seconds, and then they fell softly on the deck.

"Oh God!" he said in a low voice, "so it is _that_, and I never thought

of it before! Fool! Fool!"

I stared out also, not daring to say a word. No man can see better at

night than I. What _was_ that? Something slowly floating down the centre

of the creek, a black, oblong patch. Was it two or three duck swimming

landwards with the tide?

Then the black patch lifted itself from the water. It seemed to have a

long, narrow tail--the whole thing was curiously distinct in the

moonlight. In a second I realised that something was _being pushed up

from below_. I had never seen anything like it before. I experienced

that hideous sensation in the pit of the stomach that comes to people

who are face to face with the unknown and the unexpected for the first

time in their lives. All this happened in half a minute. The black,

oblong thing was now high in the air on the end of a pole which came

straight up through the middle of the creek. Something else was rising,

a black hump, which grew and grew, until a grey tower stood

there;--stood there but moved slowly towards us--or did it begin to

recede?

I heard Bernard's voice: "Stand by the lamp!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Scarlett was bending low over the bows of the Hulk. In the middle of the

waterway something long and lean was showing. There was a soft, metallic

clang, and then, from the centre of the dark, floating object, a light

flashed quickly, three times. Immediately I heard the click of the

shutter of our own lamp and saw the occulting beam below flash and

disappear in answer.

I knew, I think in some subconscious way, I must have known from the

very first. The whole thing, in its magnificent and unsuspected daring,

its malevolent simplicity, struck me like a blow. This was a German

submarine; this was the channel by which the Master-Spy, von Vedal, and

his agents had been sending information to the enemy! On my own quiet

marshes, in Thirty Main Creek!

"One of their 'D' class, sir; same as our 'E.' Crew of fifteen, no

quick-firing gun, and probably wireless. Handy little craft, sir!"

"They'll be coming aboard in a minute, Scarlett."

"Aye, aye, sir. If you look, sir, you'll see they are getting one of

those collapsible boats up. New thing, sir, and very handy. Holds six.

Ah!"

I could see quiet and purposeful activity round the conning-tower of the

submarine. A group of dark figures was silhouetted in the moonlight, and

presently a little boat, like a bobbing cork, lay by her side.

Three men got into it and it pushed off. It went towards the other side

of Thirty Main.

"Concealed moorings, sir," Scarlett whispered. "They've been here

before. It's dead water, and the ship'd drift, if ..."

I heard no more. I watched breathlessly. The boat went to the far side

of the creek and remained there for nearly two minutes. If there was a

cable, I did not see it, but presently the boat turned and came rapidly

towards the Hulk.

"John, take him quietly to the cabin and shove him in--it's the

Commander coming aboard," my brother added. "Scarlett, get back into the

deck-house and light that lamp. Mr. Carey is dressed like the German

boatswain, and he will show the officer straight into the deck-house.

It's ten to one the sailors won't come up. Remember to do your job

without the slightest noise--you, Adams, and Bosustow."

"Out him, sir?"

"I'm afraid so. There is no other way. Directly it is over, take off his

clothes and bring them down into the cabin. Mind the men in the boat

hear nothing."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Then my brother turned to me. The boat was now almost by the side of the

Hulk.

"You understand, John?" he said.

I touched his arm, afraid to speak.

"Then go and get the rope-ladder."

I stepped to the deck-cabin and saw the three sailors standing round it

among the litter of shooting gear. A smoky lamp hung from the ceiling.

Scarlett passed me the ladder. I took it and went to the side--my

brother had disappeared.

There was a low hiss seven feet below. I hissed, too, fixed the ladder

hooks, and dropped the rest of it. One of the sailors caught it, while

the other steadied the boat, and a slim man of just over middle height

came up like a cat. He wore some sort of dark uniform, what it was I

could not see. The collar was turned up round his face, which appeared

to be clean-shaved.

I saluted and stepped towards the deck-house. He followed me without a

sound.

Then I tapped on the door, which opened immediately, and as it did so I

shot him in with a smart blow between the shoulder-blades. There was

just one little gasping sound, and that was all. The door closed gently.

The two sailors below in the boat sat quietly enough. I went down into

the saloon.

Quick as I was, my brother was before me. He was talking earnestly to

Doris in a low voice. I stood at the door at attention, and I think I

never saw a stranger scene.

Old Lieutenant Murphy, in uniform, was seated at the table. His nostrils

were opening and shutting in his tanned face. He was exactly like an old

dog brought to the hunt for the last time. The door into the galley was

half open. Dickson major stood there with a magazine pistol in his hand.

Dickson max. sat opposite the lieutenant, his face a mask of

determination and strength. It was wonderful.

"You quite understand, Doris? You can be brave?"

"I quite understand, Bernard."

"Then we will wait a minute. Sit down, John."

We all sat down--waiting. One minute--two minutes passed. Then came a

light tap upon the door. It opened and Scarlett entered. His face was

rather red, and he breathed heavily. On his right arm he carried a

bundle of clothes.

My brother looked at him with a lift of the eyebrows, and Scarlett

nodded, placing the clothes on the table.

"Go through these clothes, Lieutenant," Bernard said. Then he turned to

Scarlett and whispered.

The man saluted and disappeared. A few seconds after, my brother

beckoned to Doris.

"Now, then," he said, "be brave!"--and then, turning to me, "Stand out

of sight on deck, John, and be ready to help."

We crept up on deck. To my unutterable surprise, Doris went to the side

and leant over. She spoke in German and in a very low voice.

"She's telling them that they're to come up on board and have a drink,"

my brother said.

The two figures below rose with alacrity. The first one ascended the

ladder as Doris whipped down the hatchway into the cabin. The second

sailor followed his companion.

I was not called upon to help, thank Heaven! Scarlett, Adams, and

Bosustow rose from nowhere.

"That accounts for three," said my brother, but I turned my head away

not to see what was going on.

When we were again down in the cabin I was shaking like a leaf.

"Drink this," Bernard said sternly, "and pull yourself together. It is

War, don't you understand that, man?"

Doris was leaning over the table by the side of Lieutenant Murphy. In

front of her was a paper. The lovely face, oddly boyish under its cap,

was wrinkled with scrutiny.

"It is special orders," she said at length, "addressed to Admiral

Kiderlen-Waechter. The plans are to be taken on board the submarine at

once." Her voice broke for the moment, but she made a great effort at

control, and the next words came from her slowly and distinctly. To me,

I think to all of us, they were like the strokes of a tolling bell.

"_The German battleship, Friesland, has eluded our Fleet in the North

Sea. Our Fleet has been decoyed towards the Scotch coast by a sortie of

the enemy from Kiel. The battleship is approaching this part of England.

She is attended by destroyers and submarines. She is convoying three

troop-ships, each of which contains two thousand German troops. The

rendezvous is for two o'clock to-morrow afternoon, when Captain von

Benda is to deliver my stepfather's plans to the German Admiral. The

landing of the raiding force is to be effected on these marshes some

time during to-morrow night._"

"To-night," said my brother, looking at his watch and snapping it into

his pocket.

Then there was a dead silence.

Bernard sat down at the table and buried his head in his hands,

motioning us to be silent. For fully five minutes he remained thus, and

what was going on within his mind I could but faintly guess. I knew, at

any rate, and so, I think, did old Lieutenant Murphy, how enormous and

incalculable were the issues that hung upon the decision of the young

Commander, whose face was hidden from us.

When Bernard looked up again his eyes were very bright and he was

smiling.

"Go on deck, John," he said, "and order the men to come down."

They came down, and Scarlett had upon his arm another bundle of clothes.

"Attention!" said my brother.

The three sailors stood stiffly by the door.

"Dickson major!"--Dickson major came out of the galley.

"Dickson max.!"--the elder brother sprang to attention also.

"John!"--I stood as stiffly as the rest.

"These men are under my orders, and they will go to death with me. You

three are different. There is no time to explain everything now, but

there is just a chance of saving this country from disaster. It is only

a chance, mind. It is a forlorn hope. We may fail in half an hour: we

may fail in twenty-four hours. In fact, it is almost certain that we

shall. Still, are you coming?"

Well, of course there wasn't any palaver about that. It was settled in a

minute. Then Bernard turned to old Murphy.

"Lieutenant," he said, "I am sorry that we are not going to have you

with us, but you've got plenty to do ashore."

"I'm damned sorry too, sir, for, by George, I'd like to have a smack at

'em before I die!"

"You may yet. Now, please take your instructions. You know the marsh.

Get off with Miss Joyce as quickly as possible. Take her to join her

sister at the Morstone Arms. Then call up the coastguard for miles

round. Come here to this Hulk--you won't see us in any case--and have

the prisoners secured safely. Then send these despatches."

My brother sat down and began to write in cipher on leaves torn from his

notebook. He looked up once.

"John," he said, "suppose you go up on deck with Doris. Make not the

slightest noise, but make your adieux."

We stole up, and I held my girl in my arms for a minute. She did not see

the dark stains which splashed the snow upon the boards.

"Good-bye, dear," I said. "Remember that I loved you more than anything

else in the whole world!"

Oh, she was wonderful! "Of course, I shall always remember how you left

me to-night," she whispered. "But you are coming back. Something tells

me that. Yesterday I was a quiet girl living an ordinary life. To-night,

nothing can disturb me, nothing can frighten me. I have supped too full

of horrors, dear John, but I am glad, and proud and happy!"

It is hardly necessary to say more. Within five minutes the old

lieutenant and my girl had passed away like ghosts from the near shore

and I was down in the cabin again.

Bernard was taking off his clothes and putting on those of the dead

captain of the submarine. Scarlett and Adams were already dressed in the

uniform of the German sailors. Bosustow stood in his shirt and drawers,

and so did my two school-boys.

"You see, it's like this, Johnny," Bernard said. "As far as we can

judge, there are about twelve men in that submarine. We've got to kill

them; there is no other way. We've got to take that submarine out into

the North Sea and we have got to fight her ourselves. The Germans will

be looking out for us. They will think us their despatch boat right

enough. We may be able to stop them before our own supports get out of

Harwich, for Lieutenant Murphy will be telegraphing all over the country

within two hours. It is touch and go, but we've got to do it."

There was an odd, dual sound, instantly suppressed. I looked sternly

towards the end of the saloon. It came from Dickson max. and Dickson

major, and if it was not a chuckle of intense and supreme delight, it

was a strangled "hooray." The three sailors standing at attention moved

not an inch, but I caught Scarlett winking at his right-hand man.

Bernard smiled grimly for an instant. I knew the signs. He was really

happy. Then he went on.

"Now, Scarlett and Adams will row the boat to the submarine. I shall sit

in the stern impersonating the captain, who has recently been killed in

action"--and, to my surprise, Bernard saluted. "You will be in the bows,

John, and they may take you for that fellow, Schweitzer, in there.

Bosustow, and Mr. Dickson, and Mr.----" he looked inquiringly at Dickson

major.

"Harold," was the reply.

"Oh yes, Mr. Harold Dickson will swim in the wake of the boat. We have

eight magazine pistols. Three will be in the sternsheets. The

brevet-lieutenants and the petty officer"--you should have seen my lads'

faces as they were commissioned!--"will swim to the ladder on the

submarine's quarter and follow us down. But be careful that, in the

rough and tumble, you don't shoot any of the first attacking party. Is

all clear?"

"Certainly, sir," said Dickson max., with a sublime and effective

impudence I could never have compassed. Already, in his magnificent

mind, Dickson max. trod the quarter-deck and wore a sword. And the

curious thing was, as we all crept up to the deck, that those tried

veterans, Scarlett, Adams, and Bosustow, accepted the situation without

a doubt.

Then we started. My brother gripped me by the hand as I went down the

ladder, and it was the only sign of emotion that he showed.

"Good old John!" he whispered. "I've sent Marjorie a message by Doris."

The submarine lay in the middle of the Creek, a hundred and fifty to two

hundred yards away. As our boat drew near, the moonlight became

obscured and there was a sudden drift of snow. We shot alongside, and

there was a gleam from a lantern shining down upon us.

It showed me a curving steel ladder, which went up over the fish-back of

the thing to a long, low deck with a light railing running round it. Two

men were standing there, and as we made fast, one of them came half-way

down the ladder and held out his hand to me. I took it, stumbled for an

instant, and found myself upon the steel platform. At my back, the

conning-tower rose eight feet high above me. Within three yards was an

oblong hatchway, from which a faint, orange light came upwards, turning

the snowflakes to dingy gold.

Scarlett was beside me in a second. I took the man nearest and caught

him by the throat. He had no time to gasp or cry out. I pressed him back

over the rail, which held--Krupp steel, I suppose. There was a slight

"snick"--it was not that of breaking metal--and I shot the sailor over

the far side, where he sank like a log.

Then I turned. A furious and silent fight was going on between Scarlett

and the other seaman. They swayed and rocked this way and that. They

panted just like the sound of a bellows blowing up a fire. I waited,

trying to get in a grip. Figures moved past me and disappeared down the

hatchway, but I hardly saw them. Scarlett swung his enemy towards the

conning-tower, and then I got my chance. I "collared him low"--Rugger

three-quarter style--and brought him down upon the deck. The man gave a

loud shout, but it was drowned by a furious noise below. There was no

more necessity for silence. I pulled out my pistol and there was an end

of the German. Scarlett jumped up like a gymnast, and together we heaved

the body overboard.

"The swine's bin and bit my ear!" said Scarlett. "Now then, sir, come

on!" and he swung himself over the hatchway and dropped.

I followed. It is impossible to describe what I saw--at any rate, my pen

is not equal to the task. For a moment, I was blinded by brilliant

light, through which a multitude of figures danced and leapt, like

people in a dream. My ear-drums were almost split by the noise. There

was a horrible, bitter smell in my nostrils, and my throat felt as if I

was swallowing a bullet of lead.

Then, as things cleared, and I suppose it could only have been an

instant before they did so, I found myself in a gleaming tunnel,

surrounded by unfamiliar machinery.

A man lying within three yards of me, his face like wet, red velvet,

suddenly jerked up his body like a marionette. His arms shot out, there

was a deafening explosion, and something rang behind my head like a gong

smitten without warning. I shot him in the body, and then I saw three

dripping figures growling and worrying upon the floor like wolves. They

rolled about with a crash and clank of metal until the great arm of the

Cornishman, Bosustow, rose and fell three times like a flail.

At the far end of the tunnel, there were more reports, and then I saw my

brother walking along a sort of grating and coming towards me.

Everything seemed to rock and dissolve. I fell back against an upright

of some sort or other and my senses nearly went. I thought I was in bed

at Morstone House School and the seven-o'clock bell was tolling.

Once more, things cleared. Everything gradually became distinct. The

infernal noise, the wild welter of sound, was hushed. Only two yards

away from me, a man dressed as a sailor was kneeling before my brother,

who held a pistol to his head. The man's hands were held up, his face

was a white wedge of terror, and a constant stream of words bubbled from

his livid lips.

"Yes, sir. Karl, sir. Coming, sir. Porterhouse steak, sir, what you

always used to like. No, sir--Swiss really--not a German. Oh, Captain

Carey, don't kill me, sir"--the voice rose into a shriek of agony--"_I

am Karl, sir!_"--the words came in an ecstasy of conviction. "Karl,

head-waiter at the Portsmouth Royal! Why, sir, you've tipped me half a

crown twenty times. Oh, sir ..."

My brother's face seemed cut in granite, but he began to laugh.

"Tie this up!" he said, and Adams ran forward--Adams was all black and

red and his clothes were torn.

Then Bernard turned to me.

"By God!" he said, "we've done it, John, we've done it so far!"

Then I realised that, save for the whining creature being trussed upon

the grating, the crew of the German submarine were all dead.

"Mr. Dickson!"

"Sir!"

"Instruct the boatswain to pipe all hands tidy ship."

It was the man Adams who, fumbling in his clothes, produced a whistle

which shrilled loudly and acted as a strange tonic to us all.

"I give you quarter of an hour," Bernard said. "Bodies to be heaved

overboard; gratings to be swabbed as well as possible in the time. Get a

hose overboard, Mr. Dickson, and have the hand-pump manned."

Then Bernard took me by the arm and led me up the slippery ladder. We

stood upon the long, narrow deck, and the snow fell over us like a

mantle.

"Now, old boy," he said, "pull yourself together. All has gone well, but

in half an hour we must be out in the North Sea, five fathoms deep. Feel

a bit sickish? Oh, you'll get over that in a few minutes. We have only

just begun."

END OF PART II

PART III

CHAPTER IX

OUT IN THE NORTH SEA. PREPARING FOR ACTION

The bees were humming through the orchard with a long, droning sound as

I lay in the hammock of my old home, once more a careless boy. My eyes

were closed, but the bright sun shone upon my face, and Peters, my

father's old butler, was coming over the grass to tell me that tea was

ready.

He touched my arm.

It was not Peters; it was a pale, clean-shaved fellow with an obsequious

manner, who held a wooden bowl of steaming milk and coffee in his hands.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The deep, droning noise, which had seemed

like the bees of childhood in my dream, was the noise of engines not far

away. I had slept three hours in the hammock, as my brother had

insisted, and here was the captured German waiter bringing me coffee. I

took it, but half-awake, and watched the man go to two other hammocks

which stretched away in front of me. The Dickson boys tumbled out of

them and I became fully conscious of where I was.

For the moment, but only for a moment, I was unmanned. The horror of all

that we had been through so recently rolled over me like a flood. The

shambles that the submarine had become, the ruthless killing of fourteen

men--the horrible little snick as I broke the back of my own victim!...

But it passed. The coffee was excellent and invigorating, and in a

minute I tossed the empty bowl into the hammock and stood upon a steel

grating, looking about me with wide eyes.

At that moment my brother came up, walking briskly, like a man at home.

He seemed changed in some way, and I realised what it was--the policeman

on his beat, and unbuttoned and at ease, the parson in his pulpit or

trimming roses in the rectory garden, are two very different people.

"Where are we?" I said. "What has happened?"

"You've had a very good sleep, John. You went off like a log directly I

had the hammock slung. It was necessary, too, or you'd never be fit for

what is coming."

"Have we started?"

"Started!" he grinned. "We're thirty miles away from Morstone Marshes,

abreast of Skegness, I should judge, which, as far as I can calculate,

is about sixty miles to the westward--and heading straight out into the

North Sea. We're just crossing the line of the Rotterdam boats from

Hull."

"But there is no movement!"

"No, my son, because we're twenty-five feet under water, that's why.

Now, you had better come and look round the boat; I shall have to

explain everything to you and show you what you will have to do later

on." He turned to the Dicksons. "You come, too," he said, "and if ever

the three of you have your wits about you, have them now. You've got to

learn in an hour or two what it takes an ordinary seaman six months to

learn--or part of it, at any rate."

I am not going to describe everything I saw in detail. This is a story

of action, and I always skip the descriptive parts in books, myself. The

Johnnies only put them in to fill up. I expect they are paid so much a

page, if the truth were known! Still, I must try and give some picture

of the strange and unfamiliar world in which I found myself. Here I was

sailing under the sea for all the world like someone in Jules Verne,

experiencing something that only the tried men of the navies ever know.

I was in a long, narrow tunnel, most brilliantly lit. The air was warm

and close, tainted a little with a faint suggestion of chemical fumes.

It was rather like being in a chemist's shop in winter time when a large

fire is burning.

Immediately to my right, the German waiter was busy over a little

electric stove, in a doorless compartment not bigger than a bathing

machine, Pots and pans hung above him and there were shelves covered

with wire netting containing stores of food. We passed him, and I

judged, from the breadth from side to side, that we were standing almost

in the middle of the submarine.

Upon white-painted gratings, my brother's sailors moved here and there

with bare feet, quiet and alert in their jumpers. The light was caught

by, and reflected again, from innumerable pieces of shining machinery,

brass and silver and dull bronze. There was a tension both of physical

atmosphere and mental excitement, strange and unnatural to me, but which

those who go beneath the waters and explore the mysterious deep always

have with them.

We walked down a central gangway and stopped by two powerful gasolene

engines, one on each side--long, lean, polished monsters, that lay

inert, but ready to leap into action on the turn of a switch and the

pulling of a lever.

"Those are the engines which run the boat when we are on the

surface--'awash,' we call it. We can do seventeen knots then--I am

assuming that this German boat is about equal to one of our own of its

class, though I have already come across several remarkable improvements

in her. We are running now by electric motor and doing about twelve

knots, which is first-class, but I'm pushing her along for all I know."

We passed onwards and to where Bosustow stood beaming over three great

purring, spitting dynamos, a piece of cotton waste in one huge paw.

"Oh, they're daisies, sir," he said, as he patted coils of insulated

wire in an ecstasy of appreciation. "They can show us something, sir,

the Germans can. The sleeve that carries the commutator is keyed to the

armature shaft on an entirely new system; it's a fair miracle of

ingenuity. But where they beat us hollow is in the accumulators. I've

not had time to inspect them thoroughly, but if we get out of this, then

the whole of our system will have to be altered."

We all bent over a rail towards the great accumulator tanks below, and I

felt a faint, acrid odour rising up from them.

"You're smelling electricity, sir," said Bosustow to me. Then he turned

to a big, table-like switch-board which controlled the flow of current

from below and commanded all the electrical machinery on board. He

fingered the big, vulcanite handles as if he loved them and stroked the

shining flanged rim of the volt meter as a mother strokes her child.

"Now Mr. Carey understands something about machinery, Bosustow," said my

brother. "You can trust him to follow out your directions without making

any blunders, I think. John, your station will be by Bosustow until you

are wanted forrard, but there is no need for you to stay now. There is a

good deal more that I must say."

All the voices were sharp and staccato, my own sounded like that in my

ears when I answered. They echoed and rang in the heavy air of the

sealed, steel tube, voices that were not quite free and natural, for

all their readiness of tone.

We turned and went forward again, passing an open doorway and a few

steps which led upwards to the conning-tower. The gangway ran at each

side of it.

The long, tunnel-like vista grew narrower and the roof began to slope

downward to a point. In front of us, in the extreme bows of the boat,

were two huge, circular steel doors, like the doors of a safe, clamped

and locked by an intricate mechanism.

"These are the mouths of the torpedo expulsion tubes," said Bernard. "We

carry six torpedoes, I am glad to find--two more than I should have

expected in a boat of this size--and, by Jove, we shall want 'em! If we

throw away a single one, the game will be up, I expect. The torpedoes

are run into these tubes along steel rails. They're discharged from the

tubes by compressed air from the air tanks below. I see here the

pressure is several thousand pounds to the square inch. In some boats we

send out the tin fish by exploding a few ounces of cordite, but the air

is the better way."

He turned to where Scarlett was busy and I saw a submarine torpedo for

the first time. I confess there was a little inward shudder as I looked

upon the deadly thing that could send the largest battleship afloat to

the bottom in a few minutes. It was like a huge fish of steel with a

large propeller at one end.

"These are beauties," Bernard said, "and to think that we are going to

have the chance of using them against their original owners!" He

chuckled.

"The propelling engines," he went on, "are inside--for you must remember

that a torpedo is a little ship in itself and is not a projectile at

all. There are three hundred pounds of trinitrotoluene in this

beauty--we've done away with the old-fashioned gun-cotton now--and she's

got a range of seven thousand yards--over four miles, Johnny, my boy!

Now, Mr. Dickson and Mr. Harold Dickson, you will stay here with

Scarlett. It will be your part, when we go into action, to fire these

torpedoes. There ought to be six or seven of you to do it. There are

only three, and two of you are quite untrained. Scarlett, get to work at

once and give these gentlemen a practical drill. Show them exactly what

they will have to do and explain the orders that will come from me. Miss

out anything superfluous; remember we've hardly any time. Just teach

them what is absolutely necessary."

"Aye, aye, sir!" said Scarlett, and as we turned back I heard him at

once beginning his lecture.

And now we came to the most interesting part of that world of marvels,

to the _brain_ of the submarine. Adams stood in the first stage of the

conning-tower, his hands upon a little leather-covered steering-wheel.

In front of him was a gyroscopic compass and a row of speaking-tubes. A

light threw a bright radiance upon a framed chart hanging on the wall,

marked everywhere with faint purple pencil lines.

Bernard glanced at the compass and gave the man a few directions. Then

we went up a short ladder of half a dozen rungs into the highest chamber

of all.

It was perfectly circular. There was just room for two or three people,

and the steel roof was two feet above our heads. A great tube came down

through the roof and disappeared beneath the open grating of the floor.

It was like the mast of a ship going through the cabin down to the very

gar-board strike. There was a row of brass clock-faces with trembling

needles and oddly shaped gauges, in which coloured liquid rose and fell.

The whole ganglion of nerves met here in the cerebellum of the ship, and

at a glance its commander knew exactly what she was doing, her speed,

her depth below the surface of the water, the pressure--a thousand other

things which I am not competent to name. The whimsical idea came to me

that it was like lifting up the top of a man's head and seeing the

thoughts which controlled every motion of his body.

There were charts, also, spread upon a semi-circular shelf of mahogany,

with dividers, compasses, and a large magnifying glass.

Fastened to the wall, just above this shelf, was something that touched

me strangely. It was a photograph in a silver frame, the photograph of a

young, light-haired girl, and upon it was written in German, "_An meinem

lieber Otto_."

Bernard saw it too and sighed. "It's the skipper's girl," he said.

"Poor chap! he'll never see her again in this world! It was an ugly

death to die, John!" and his voice had a note of deep feeling in it.

"But it had to be, and Scarlett told me that he didn't know what hurt

him.

"Now," he continued, "I'm going to show you something." He pulled out

his watch and then, leaning over to the wall, he snapped over something

like the stunted lever of a signal box. Then he pressed a button and a

bell rang somewhere far down below. A hoarse voice sounded in our ears

from a speaking-tube, and there was a quick, throbbing, pumping sound

from the column in the wall.

Looking down, I saw that immediately below us was a circular white

table. I put my hand on it and it was painted canvas, dazzlingly white.

"The periscope is going up," my brother said. "It should be light,

now--watch!"

There was a click and the lamp in the roof went out. We were in

darkness. A slight creaking sound, a movement of my brother's arm, and

there flashed down, in clear light upon the table, a picture of the

upper seas.

Forty feet above, the eye of the submarine surveyed the dawn, and in

that still box where we stood, we saw it also.

Dawn upon the waters! A tossing grey expanse of waves. It was like the

film of a cinematograph, only in colour, and as Bernard turned the

wheel, picture after picture glided over the table--the most incredible

thing!

Not a sail was in sight. The North Sea was an empty, tossing waste of

waters in the cold light of the winter's dawn.

The dawn of--what?

CHAPTER X

THE SPEAR OF FOAM

"A little fresh air is clearly indicated," said my brother, "and after

that, when I've attended to another little matter, a good breakfast.

Some of us may be taking our next meal in Fiddlers' Green, which, they

say in the Navy, is nine miles to windward of hell, though I hope not."

He switched on the light again and went to the side table, where there

was a complicated array of wheels and levers, all of which were

duplicated in the chamber immediately below and by means of which the

Commander, watching the picture of the periscope, could control every

movement of the boat with his own hands if necessary.

He pulled a lever and a bell clanged. At once the loud purring of the

electric engines ceased.

Bernard pulled over another and larger lever with both hands. I suddenly

felt myself slipping backwards, until I fetched up against the wall of

the conning-tower, narrowly missing the opening to the steersman's

chamber.

"By Jove! I forgot to tell you," said Bernard. "You see, I've stopped

the electric engines and jammed over the horizontal rudders. We're

slanting up to the surface--look!"

Immediately in front of me and a little above my head, I now saw round

portholes filled with amazingly thick, toughened glass. These had been

quite black and had escaped my notice before. Now, as I watched, they

grew a little lighter. Click! and the lamp went out. The portholes were

grey now, grey melting into green, which grew brighter and brighter

until it turned into a froth of soda-water, and then there was nothing

but white sky. There was a slight jerk and the floor seemed to right

itself.

"We're just awash now, but we'll get above water."

Again the ring of a bell, an order through a speaking-tube. After that

came a clang of machinery and an extraordinary bubbling, choking noise,

like a giant drinking.

"Just blown out the water tanks, old soul. Feel her lift? Now her

whale-back is above water and we'll go and say good-morning to the sun,

which I perceive is very kindly beginning to show himself. But before

that ..."

He shouted another order and there came a deafening din from below.

Bang! Bang! Bang! till the whole steel hull quivered.

"That is the surface engine starting. It'll be all right in a minute,"

and even as he spoke, the noise subsided into a regular throb. It was

for all the world like a motor car starting on bottom speed and then

slipping into top gear.

Scarlett came hurrying up into the conning-tower and he and my brother

unlocked the sliding hatch. In a minute we had emerged into the keen air

of the morning. How fresh and sweet it seemed to me it is impossible to

say. The sun was rising. The bitter cold of the marshes had gone. The

small waves were flecked with gold as we stood upon the wet steel plates

and drank in the air as if it had been wine.

"An ideal day for a submarine action!" Bernard said, rubbing his hands.

"There's just enough ripple on the surface to make us difficult to

detect, and yet it is smooth enough to give me a clear view. This boat

is beautifully trimmed, she doesn't roll a bit. I'll send those boys up

in a minute or two, but meanwhile I've got to play a bit of bluff. A lot

depends on it."

I nodded. It was not my place to ask questions.

"You see," he went on, "of course the German battleship expects us. I

know exactly the spot in the North Sea where we are supposed to pick her

up some time after lunch--provided, of course, that the Germans have

carried out their plans successfully and our scouts really have been

decoyed away. It is part of a huge scheme.

"Well, assuming that their own plans are successful, they will be on the

look-out for us and they'll send us a wireless message when we're within

close range. This will be some prearranged signal, a single letter

repeated a certain number of times or something of that sort, so that

any of our ships picking it up would not know what it meant. We've got a

wireless mast on board which can be shoved up at will and there's a

complete installation in a little room down below next to the cook's

galley. Unfortunately there is not one of us who knows anything about

wireless. Bosustow is a capable electrician and could control the

machinery, but he can't understand the signals. Therefore, when we sight

the _Friesland_--and I want to get as near her as possible so as to make

no mistakes--we must signal with flags.

"I've got their signal book and in it is a special code made for this

occasion. The flags are in the flag locker all right, but I don't

understand a word of German and none of us here do, so I'm going to put

the fear of God into our friend, Karl of the Portsmouth Royal. A lot

depends on that.

"Just skip down, young John, and tell Scarlett to bring him up here."

"Aye, aye, sir!" I said--it came to me quite naturally, I didn't think

about it--and I climbed down into the interior of the submarine.

Scarlett was standing by the starboard torpedo tube, while the Dickson

brothers, with their backs turned to me, were chuckling delightedly. I

heard a fragment of the conversation.

"... and so, sir, I ses to the gal, Molly her name was, they used to

call her the belle of South-sea pier, 'Molly,' I ses, 'you're a little

bit of all right, but ...'"

I cut short that anecdote. My pedagogic instincts awoke and I forgot

that the Dicksons were now brevet officers of the King.

A sharp order did it. The two lads turned away and began to be

ostentatiously busy, while Scarlett, his face did not belie his name at

that moment, pattered along the grating, caught hold of the ex-German

waiter with unnecessary roughness, and kicked him towards the ladder of

the conning-tower.

I went up first, and when Karl emerged he stood to attention with a very

pale face, though I did not miss a quick glance round the horizon. My

brother was looking down upon a shining magazine pistol in his hand.

Then he raised his head and his voice grated like a file.

"Look here, you Karl, or whatever you call yourself, you're a spy!"

There was a torrent of expostulation. "No, sir, not a spy; I never was

that. I was a reservist in our Navy. I was called out and I had to go.

I'm a prisoner of war, sir, that's what I am."

My brother shook his head. "You can't prove that," he said, "and the

circumstances are most suspicious. I spared you last night, thinking you

might be useful, and you certainly made some very good coffee this

morning. But I've come to the conclusion ..."--he lifted the pistol.

I had had my brother's word for it that Karl was an excellent

head-waiter. My own observations showed me that he was a coward, for he

fell on his knees and tears began to stream from his eyes. My brother

spat over the side in disgust and I kicked the fellow up to attention

again.

"Well, I'll give you one more chance before shooting you out of hand.

You must come down with me and translate the German in the Flag Signal

Book. You must tell me all you know about the plans of your late

commander. Then, if you make us a good breakfast--I thought I saw some

tinned sausages and some marmalade in your rack--I may possibly not

shoot you, though I shall tie you up when we go into action. At any

rate, you will have the same chance as the rest of us."

The fellow's gratitude was painful to see. He was all smiles and

obsequiousness at once, and so that little matter was concluded

satisfactorily.

We had our breakfast, and an excellent one it was, all sharing alike.

Afterwards I went up on deck with the Dicksons.

We saw the sails of two trawlers a mile away on the port bow, but save

for them the sea was deserted. The boys were in high spirits. Not a

thought of what was to come troubled them for a moment. "Just think,

sir," said Dickson max., "what a bit of luck to be in for a rag like

this!" But I won't recount any more of their joyous prattle. It was real

enough. They had not a trace of fear, but underlying everything there

was a deep seriousness that had made them men in a few short hours.

* * * * *

For two hours I worked hard with Bosustow at the engines. There was

lots to do. The gauges of the petrol tanks needed attention. There were

many details which would only interest an engineer were I to recount

them.

At a quarter to twelve I went forward with my brother. We were still on

the surface--heading fast for our destination--and saw the port and

starboard torpedo tubes loaded. It was astonishing how the Dicksons had

picked up something of their work, and Bernard was very pleased.

At twelve we lunched and a tot of rum was served out to the three

sailors. Everything was now ship-shape. We were all dressed in uniforms

of the dead crew. We tied up Karl and lashed him securely in his galley.

Then, Adams being at the wheel in the lower portion of the

conning-tower, my brother assembled us aft, by the clanging petrol

engines.

"In ten minutes," he said, "I shall sound 'Prepare for action,' and from

that time onwards you will be at your posts. I believe we are going to

surprise the Germans and surprise the whole world. I believe we are

going to save England from this raid. But we've got to remember that we

may not pull it off. I am very pleased, more than pleased, with all you

have done. I never want to command a better crew. It is the best scratch

crew in naval history. We are only seven and we ought to be fifteen, but

that does not matter. We have shown it does not matter, already. Now

before we get to quarters I think we ought to remember what day this is.

It happens to be Sunday."

I am ashamed to say we all looked up in surprise, but so it was.

"Well," my brother continued, "by good luck, I happen to have a

prayer-book in my pocket and I am going to read a bit of the service and

the ninety-first psalm."

Very straight and stiff, he pulled out a battered little book and began.

This is not a scene I wish to linger on, but you will understand my

reasons.

After the last sonorous Amen, Bernard said:

"Well, we've said our prayers and we've thought of our wives and--and of

our girls. That is all I have got to say."

He nodded to Scarlett and a shrill whistle--the trumpet of the

Navy--rang and rattled through the tube.

The two boys and Scarlett went forward to the torpedoes. Adams was

called down from the steering wheel to assist Bosustow at the engines.

My brother ordered me up into the conning-tower by his side.

"You'll be of more help to me here," he said. "I shall control the ship

entirely myself, but I may want your assistance. Watch me carefully in

case I have to go below at any moment."

At twelve-thirty precisely, the gasolene engines were stopped. Bernard

filled the tanks, slightly deflected the horizontal rudders, and we

dived into the smooth, green wall of an approaching swell and sank to

ten feet. The light was switched off, the periscope rose, and we bent

over the white table, white no longer.

At five minutes to one the picture of the empty sea was altered. Our

range of vision was about two miles, and at that distance to the

north-east we observed a cloud of smoke upon the horizon.

"There she is!" I said, and put my finger upon the rapidly growing

smear.

Within twenty minutes, a large battleship raised her hull, making

directly towards us. We altered our course a little, and as we swerved I

could see she had four funnels which grew larger every moment. Of her

accompanying flotilla and of the transports we could see nothing at all.

Then we rose to the surface.

Our short-handedness became apparent at once. Adams had to be called

from the engines to stand at the wheel. Scarlett and my brother went on

deck as I was useless at the manipulation of flags. It was a critical

moment.

"I am determined to take no chances," Bernard said; "that is why I am

risking signalling. We could probably get her without showing at all,

but as she expects us and will lay to for us, we can make it absolutely

certain."

He had the signal book, over which he had pencilled translations of the

German, in his hand.

"That flag, Scarlett--'wireless out of order,' it means."

That flag ran up a steel halliard bent to the top of the conning-tower.

"Ah, they see us!"

Scarcely three-quarters of a mile away, the great battleship was moving

at a snail's pace. Her decks were crowded with men--in the clear

sunlight I could see every detail. A piece of bunting ran up her mast in

a ball and opened to the breeze.

"I'm damned if I know what it means, but it's obviously all right. Now

then, Scarlett, the black flag with the white stripe. That means 'am

successfully bringing despatches'--got it?--good!"

There was another signal from the battleship, to which we had now

approached within half a mile. The smoke from her funnels had almost

ceased. She was lying to and waiting.

Slowly we forged onwards. Then came a sharp order. We jumped back into

the conning-tower and the sliding hatchway closed. Scarlett had gone

like a flash to his torpedo tubes, and we dived. We sank in just a

hundred and fifty seconds.

"Good!" said Bernard, as the periscope panted up and the battleship lay

on the table before us.

The hum and tick of the electric motors began again. Bernard turned his

wheel and the picture of the battleship opened out in full broadside.

"They don't know what to make of it," he remarked, to himself, rather

than to me. "Now, I think--steady--steady ..."

The ship grew larger every moment, higher and higher. It seemed as if

she was rising out of the water.

"Now!"--he leant over a speaking tube.

He had hardly given his order when a bell rang smartly, close by my

head. I heard staccato voices below in the bows of the submarine, and

then the clang and swish of the discharge. We were only three hundred

yards away. A white streak appeared shooting towards the monster, like a

spear of foam. It was so quick that I could hardly have followed it with

my finger upon the table.

CHAPTER XI

THE SUBMARINE FIGHTS FOR ENGLAND

Can you imagine a narrow belt of foam, rushing over the sea like a live

thing with irresistible and sinister suggestion of _something_ terrible

below? That is what I saw as I stared down at the toy theatre, the

little, coloured microcosm.

Then the inevitable happened. _Der Friesland_ was struck full amidships.

A wall of white water rose up out of the sea. Above it, in an instant,

spread a huge black fan of smoke, dark as ebony against the sun. At that

moment, my brother put the helm hard down and we flew off at an angle.

Even as we did so, it seemed that the side of our ship received a

terrific blow. We lurched in the conning-tower; we were flung against

the starboard wall. There was a nerve-wracking pause, and then, with a

jerk, the submarine righted herself, simultaneously as the faintest

indication of a mighty explosion fell through the water and came through

our armoured walls.

"Too close!" my brother gasped. "I ought to have allowed for these

German torpedoes--look, John, look!"

The recoil from the explosion of _Der Friesland_ had nearly sent us to

the bottom, but we were righted again, and we saw upon the table,

quivering and indistinct, a piteous mass of unrecognisability, wreathed

in black fumes, from which flared out angry bursts of fire, like

Vesuvius in eruption. All this horror was sinking--sinking into the

table, it seemed. Blazing all over, broken in two, the wreck of the

monster went lower and lower in the water.

She was done. Bernard gave a great sob, and then hoarse orders rang

through the submarine.

Within two minutes we were upon the surface. The hatch was open. My

brother and myself stood there, gasping in the sunlight at the ruin we

had made. The sea was covered with debris and dotted with the heads of

swimming sailors. There was one boat afloat, crammed with men, under

whose weight it hesitated, trembled, and sank like a stone, as we looked

on.

"Good God!" I cried, "can't we help them, Bernard?"

"No can do," he answered, in Navy slang. "It can't be done, old soul.

That's that. I'm damned sorry though."

We were rolling in a grey sea, churned by the monster's dying struggles.

It was a desolate waste, patched with horror. Far away, on the port

bow, something small and blurred was showing. It was either smoke or the

hull of a big ship.

"The first transport!" Bernard said. "We had better be ..."

He did not finish his sentence. Something shrieked overhead like an

invisible express train. There was a sound like a clap of thunder, and a

fountain of spray rose a hundred yards away from us.

We wheeled round. Not quarter of a mile away, and heading straight for

us, we saw two immense, white ostrich feathers, divided as by the blade

of a knife. Each instant they grew larger.

One of the convoying destroyers had made a grand detour and was coming

for us at the charge.

Then, I cannot say when or how, there was a sound like two great hands

clapping together in the air above us. Instantaneously, the plates of

the deck and conning-tower rang like gongs, followed by little splashing

sounds, as if someone was throwing eggs.

I had no idea what it was. "What the devil ..." I was beginning, when

Bernard explained.

"Shrapnel," he said, and held out his left arm to me. It ended in what

looked like a bundle of crimson rags.

"Damn the blighters!" he said, "they've blown off my left hand. Quick,

John, or we shall lose the trick. Your handkerchief!"

I pulled it out mechanically.

"Knot it round my arm--yes--there--just above the wrist. Thank God

you're strong! Now then, you've got to twist it. Got anything for a

lever?"

The only thing I could find was a silver-mounted fountain pen, a

Christmas present from Doris the year before. I whipped it into the knot

of the handkerchief, turned it round and secured it. The whole thing did

not take more than ten seconds. I had hardly finished, when Bernard

skipped inside the conning-tower. I followed him. The hatchway slid into

its place with a clang, and as we heard another terrific explosion above

us, I wrenched the rudder lever over, Bernard signalled below to fill

the tanks, and through the portholes I saw the welcome green creep up,

the light disappear, and felt the gratings sinking beneath my feet. I

shouted down for Dickson--the first name I could think of.

Dickson max. was up in a second.

"Get the bottle of rum," I said, "the Captain's hurt."

It came. I held it to my brother's lips. He took a little and gave one

deep groan.

Dickson max. stood like a statue. He never asked a question. It was

wonderful.

"Who fired that torpedo?" Bernard asked.

"I did, sir. Mr. Scarlett showed me how."

"You will be pleased to know, Mr. Dickson, that you have sunk the German

battleship, _Der Friesland_, with probably a thousand souls on board.

This will be remembered."

"You are hurt, sir?"

"Get down to the torpedo tubes. Load the empty one and stand by for

orders."

Dickson vanished.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Right as rain. Now then, we've got to find those transports. I took

their bearings before we sank. Meanwhile I think we'll get a little

deeper, out of harm's way."

He told me what to do. I pulled the necessary lever and spoke orders to

Bosustow at the engines. The needle on the manometer quivered and rose.

We went down to thirty feet. Immediately, it seemed as if the world

above, the noise of battle, everything, faded away. We were buzzing

along in the depths of the sea, just as we had been, intact, unhurt,

until I looked at Bernard's hand. He was rather pale, but as pleased in

face as if he was just tumbling into the "Sawdust Club" at Portsmouth.

"I say," he said, "won't the daily papers spread themselves over this!"

Somehow or other, a beastly little fly must have got into the

conning-tower. It settled on me. I put up my hand to brush it away. My

hand came back--pink, and I stared stupidly at it.

"You silly blighter!" my brother said, "didn't you know you'd lost half

your ear?"

I suppose we ran, deep under water, at the top speed of which the motors

were capable for at least another ten minutes. Adams was called up to

the wheel and Bernard went down. I stood where I was until the man

below shouted up. "Captain calling for you, sir!"

I tumbled down into the centre of the submarine, looking first aft to

where the huge Cornishman, Bosustow, was quietly moving about his

engines.

"Forrard, sir," said Bosustow, and I hastened round the gangway towards

the bows. Scarlett, the Dicksons, and Bernard were standing by the

torpedo tubes. Bernard turned to me.

"That concussion has snookered our tubes a bit," he said. "You see we

aren't quite accustomed to this new German mechanism. Scarlett says, and

I quite agree, that it's a toss up if we can make correct aim under

water. I think we shall have to go for that transport on the surface."

He looked at me with quick interrogation. I knew what he meant. Already

we had done more than anyone in the world would have thought possible.

It was no time for sentimentalism or heroic thoughts, and we knew that,

whatever happened, we had earned imperishable fame. We were safe now.

Should we run another risk? That was what my brother was asking me. Even

his iron nerve doubted itself for an instant.

"The only thing I can see to do," I answered, "is to let 'em have it in

the open--out of the trenches, bayonet attack, what?"

"My own opinion entirely, sir," said Scarlett. "Damn it, begging your

pardon, sir, we've not 'alf give 'em it yet!"

For a moment my brother's glance rested on the two eager boys. Was he

justified in flinging them to death after they had done so much, behaved

so splendidly?

They knew it. By some intuition, the young devils saw it at once.

"Oh, let's have another smack at them, sir!" they said in chorus.

Without another word, Bernard limped along the gratings and I helped him

up into the conning-tower again. We rose to the surface.

The stars in their courses fought for Sisera! When we went out on deck,

the first transport was scarcely a mile away from us on the starboard

quarter. We had judged it to a tick.

But she was no longer heading west. She had turned tail. She was a

Hamburg-Amerika liner converted to a transport, and thick black smoke

poured out of her four funnels as she raced back towards Heligoland and

safety.

"She's got nearly three thousand troops on board, I'll bet you a

manhattan," Bernard said. "We _must_ get her, we simply must!"

Turning to the west, we saw at least five destroyers rushing for us like

express trains. Whether they had seen us come up or not I cannot tell,

but they knew well enough what our manoeuvre would be, and they were

not a mile and a half away.

"Get down. Tell Bosustow to cram it all on. Increase the spark. We've

got to do twenty knots if we scrap the whole thing."

I was there in a moment, I told Bosustow what the skipper had said. The

big man was quietly chewing tobacco, and he spat down on the

accumulators as he made a motion to salute. He moved like a slug over

his roaring engines, but even as he did so, the angry hum, the muffled

explosions, rose into a steel symphony like Tchaikovsky's "1812"! I felt

the ship leap forward like a whippet out of leash. When I stumbled up on

deck again, the wind was whistling all round the conning-tower. It blew

my cap off into the sea.

We gained, we gained enormously, but so did the pursuing destroyers.

We soon knew that. There were sounds behind us like a little street-boy

whistling to a friend. They were firing their bow machine guns, taking

no careful aim, at the fearful pace they were going, but all around us

fountains of foam rose in the sea as we plunged onwards.

"You know, John," said my brother, "it's a difficult thing for any

gunners at all to fire their bow chasers at a little bobbing thing like

a submarine. Of course, they may get us with a lucky shot, but I don't

think they will."

They didn't.

The great liner saw us coming and slanted off obliquely to the north. It

wasn't any use at all. We had the heels of her, though we knew that at

any moment our engines might give out, owing to the fearful strain we

were putting on them.

It was Scarlett who fired the torpedo--"must let the old blighter have

his chance!" my brother said--and it went straight and true to the

_Princessin Amalia_, as we afterwards learned she was.

I think that was the worst of all. We torpedoed her from six hundred

yards. There was no explosion, as there was in the case of the

battleship. We could see everything far more distinctly. She simply

broke in two and sank in three minutes, defenceless, impotent.

"Poor chaps!" I said, as we watched.

"Fortune of war!" Bernard answered--"Yes, poor chaps! At the same time,

remember that they're the same sort of fellows who have been crucifying

flappers in Belgium and taking out the whole male population of harmless

villages and shooting them before breakfast. They would have been doing

that all over Norfolk in thirty hours, if"--he paused--"if you hadn't

been rejected by the R.N.F.C. and also been the right hand of the late

lamented Doctor Upjelly. We must get down quickly, or else ..."

He had turned and was holding his binoculars to his eyes.

"Good heavens!" he said, "what's that?"

I turned, and I saw that the five destroyers were sweeping away in a

great curve to the north. They were pursuing us no longer.

"What is it?" I cried.

The answer didn't come from my brother, though I heard it plainly

enough. It was like thunder many miles away--a huge, dull boom such as I

had never heard before.

"Why, they're running!"

"I should rather think so, old soul!"

"Are they afraid of us? What is that noise?"

"That, my dear young friend, unless I am very much mistaken, is

one of the twelve-inch guns of His Majesty's ship, _Vengeance_.

Cruiser-battleship, young John. I happen to know she's been lying off

Harwich for the last week, waiting orders. Our friend, Lieutenant

Murphy, has sent my wires to good purpose, and 'now we shan't be long!'"

Again the great, menacing boom, but this time we saw something.

From the deck of a submarine the range of vision is only two miles. The

last destroyer was almost disappearing on the horizon, when she suddenly

jumped out of the sea and fell to pieces like a pack of cards.

"That's old Snorty Bethune-Ranger!" my brother said, wagging his head

gravely. "Best gunner commander in the fleet, and I know he's on board

the _Vengeance_. Now don't you think we'll have the boys up and let 'em

chortle a bit?"

"I'll go and call them."

I was just going in when I was gripped by the arm so hard that I winced.

"Look there!" said my brother.

I followed his pointing right arm and saw something far up in the sky,

something like a crow, which grew larger every second.

"One of their hydroplanes, off the deck of the second transport. She's

going to try and drop bombs on us."

"Will she do it?"

"Can a duck bark?" Bernard answered contemptuously. "Of course, she may

be lucky, but it's never happened yet. The worst of it is that they can

see us thirty feet below the surface. Still, old sport, she can't do

much--hear her coming?"

I did. There was a noise like a motor-bicycle in the sky, and the crow

grew to an eagle, developed into an aeroplane, such as I had seen so

often in the illustrated papers.

"I suppose we'd better submerge, though I don't want to run from a

beastly mechanical kite, after sinking Kaiser Bill's lovin' enthusiastic

soldiers, all in the box, complete, one shilling! I say, John, would you

like a little bit of sport?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't suppose this fellow is going to do us any harm, and any

way, it's a toss up. Now you rather pride yourself as a wild-fowler,

don't you?"

"If I hadn't been a wild-fowler," I said, "we shouldn't have been where

we are now."

"Quite so. Now, there's a rack of excellent rifles down below, and

dozens of clips; see if you can't pick this Johnny off."

He bellowed down through the hatch.

"Bring up a magazine rifle and some ammunition. Look sharp!"

I got the rifle in a few seconds. I think we were both perfectly

reckless. I know I was. I laughed as I tucked the gun into my shoulder.

There was a complicated arrangement of sights, but I never even snapped

up the foresight. It did not seem worth while; the mark was so big.

The hydroplane fetched a sweep of quarter of a mile round us, and then

came head on. I could see the pilot distinctly and, a little below him,

the gentleman who was getting ready to drop his bombs.

It was quite delightful. They were not going at a higher speed than a

flock of widgeon. To me, it was child's play.

I plugged the bomb expert with the second shot. Then, and I really

rather pride myself on what I did next, I hit the long, sausage-like

petrol tank and ripped it up. There was a huge roar, an overhead

explosion, and as the whole beastly thing turned a somersault and fell,

I am pretty certain, too, that I put the pilot out of his pain with my

last shot.

* * * * *

We were surrounded by ships--they had come racing north out of Harwich

just in time. The big _Vengeance_ was still booming away, but two

snaky-like destroyers were coming up hell for leather and a big seven

thousand ton cruiser was not more than three hundred yards from us.

Puff! puff! A white pinnace, with a shining brass funnel, swirled round

and came up on our quarter. My brother and myself, together with the

two Dickson boys, were standing by the conning-tower.

The pinnace was full of men. It was steered by a youngish-looking,

clean-shaved officer, wearing the badges of a lieutenant.

Adams, Scarlett, and Bosustow were over the side in a minute, a coil of

rope ran out, boat-hooks appeared from nowhere. There was a subdued hum

of chatter, as the men from the cruiser greeted the three heroes of the

submarine.

Then I heard a sharp and rather squeaky voice.

"Hallo, Whelk!" it said.

Bernard leant over the rail; he was nearly done, but he found voice to

answer that hail.

"That you, Reptile?" he muttered, "you are more like a stuffed frog than

ever!"

Such are the greetings and amenities of the Navy. But the last thing I

remember hearing that afternoon came from the lieutenant in charge of

the pinnace.

"I say, excuse me for mentioning it, but 'well done,' you fellows!"

CHAPTER XII

THE LAST CHAPTER--IN TWO PARTS

PART I.--DORIS AND MARJORIE HAVE A LATE VISITOR

NOTE.--I have certainly written this chapter--with a pen, that is.

Neither my brother's wife nor my own actually set down a word of

the following. I am not responsible, and I will say no more. You

will understand why when you have read this last chapter. If I were

the usual sort of poopstick that often lurks behind such a story, I

should say: "This is put in at the request of my friends." It is

not. It is done simply to tell you the end of our little affairs,

and rather more with my heart in my mouth than my tongue in my

cheek.--J. C.

It was Sunday night in Lieutenant Murphy's house at Cockthorpe. The

wires had worked. By dawn there was an army of police from Norwich in a

fleet of motor cars. They invested Morstone House School. Old Mr.

Pugmire, startlingly sober for once, was placed in charge of the

boarders, who were all sent home during the course of the next day.

Another, and more dangerous reprobate, Mrs. Gaunt with the broken leg,

was interrogated by a stern-faced inspector in the presence of a doctor.

The hag had been in von Vedal's confidence for years. The police learned

much.

By ten o'clock, others than the County Police had arrived. There were

clean-shaved, quiet-mannered officials from the Admiralty. There was a

lean, elderly gentleman in khaki, with the red band round his cap and on

his shoulders which pronounced him of the War Office Staff.

Admiral Kiderlen-Waechter and the man, Schweitzer, were in Norwich

Castle by eleven. The whole countryside and coastline buzzed like

swarming bees. A detachment of Territorials patrolled the village.

Nobody knew anything at all of what had really happened, but everyone

was very excited. All the local people agreed that there had not been a

Sunday like this for many years!

Doris and Marjorie Joyce were at Cockthorpe, in the Lieutenant's house.

They were being looked after by Mrs. Murphy, a jolly old Irishwoman with

all the tact and humour of her nation--a woman who knew when to foil

hysteria with a jest, to hearten a girl with a sharp word, and, when the

final interrogation was over, to invite the warm relieving flood of

tears with the instinctive motherhood of one who nightly prayed to Mary

to pray for those in distress.

The girls were troubled very little. The Lieutenant of the Coastguards

had seen almost everything. There would not be an inquest for two or

three days. They had made their statement to a courteous person from

London. They were to be left in peace.

After lunch the old lady came to them--came to the little sitting-room

which opened out of the bedroom she had given them.

"Now, my dear children," she said, "ye'll just take off your stays and

pull down your hair, and I'll tuck ye in under the eiderdown, and ye'll

sleep!"

She had two tumblers in her plump hands, upon which sparkled many

rings--the Irish carbuncles, which are so much larger and more brilliant

than mere rubies, the Ballysheen emeralds, "which you can only find at

Ballysheen, me dear, and glad the jewellers of Regent Street would be if

they could get a supply of 'em! Faith! and the doctor has given me this

for you. Bromide to calm the nerves--not that I ever had any nerves,

meself, when I was your age! But I never had a crool stepfather lying

dead in an adjacent village, nor was mixed up with spies, though in the

Sin-fein riots of '84--Marjorie, me darlint, take your shoes off. Now

then, I'll tuck ye both up and pull down the blinds to keep out the

sunlight, though it's shutters I would be putting up when I was a gurl!"

It was like a fairy story, and Mrs. Murphy was the good Mrs.

Bedonebyasyoudid: "The children sank into a deep, dreamless sleep."

Poor dears, how they must have wanted it after all they had been

through! I can see them lying there....

(Excision by censor and pencil note in the margin of the manuscript:

"John Carey, you liar, don't obtrude yourself and your sickly

sentiments.")

* * * * *

It was about six when Doris and Marjorie awoke. They came out of the

bedroom into the sitting-room adjoining. A bright fire burnt upon the

hearth with that clear redness which indicates a dry and frosty night.

On a little table there was an equipage of tea, and a copper kettle sang

gently.

These two girls were essentially healthy and plucky. The semi-imprisoned

life they had led at Morstone House School had broken nothing of their

spirit. The death--the righteous execution--of the man who had hurried

their mother into her grave affected them not at all. They were too

brave and fine to affect an emotion that they did not, could not, feel.

All that had happened in the large, L-shaped house was hideous and

horrible, yet not to be overmuch remembered or deplored.

They had another subject of discussion, these two beautiful sisters.

"Doris, it was desperate from the first."

"Yes, it was, Marjorie."

"Then, do you think----?"

"That they will come out all right, you mean?"

"Yes, do you?"

"My red-haired sister," Doris answered, "if you go on like this I'll be

bound to bite!"

"Of course, Commander Carey knows all about submarines, and he's one of

the bravest officers...."

"Yes, I rather like Bernard myself."

"You _rather like_ him, Doris!"

"Well, you haven't known him as long as I've known John. What price

Johnny, my sweet young sister, and what about the bold, brave Dickson

max. and Dickson major?"

They kept it up for a minute or two very well, and then their arms went

round each other, and one sister held the other close.

The bell from the adjacent church tolled for evensong. It was a lovely

night, cold and clear with a great, round, green moon. Mrs. Murphy

mercifully left them alone. They heard the front door close, and saw her

rolling up the path towards the church, a long, dark façade with lit

windows.

As if in a dream, the girls heard the droning murmur of the Psalms.

Their thoughts were far away with a little band of heroes. There was a

long pause--it must have been the sermon--and then came a deep, swelling

sound. The congregation were singing the last hymn, and it was "for

those in peril on the sea."

They clasped hands and went to the window, opening it wide to the

moonlight. The simple, familiar music flooded into the room.

* * * * *

Bang! Bang! Bang! The door burst open. It was midnight, and Mrs. Murphy,

in an appalling night-cap and a magenta dressing-gown, was standing by

the girls' beds.

"Get ye up! Get ye up!--no, don't bother about your hair, it's well

enough as it is. The Saints be praised--hush, ye'll not say a word, for

I'm a good Protestant here, for Murphy's sake, and an old gazaboo the

clergyman is, to be shure!--but there's a gintleman come down in a big

automobile to see you. Wirra, phwat news!"

While she was shouting and gesticulating, the old lady had pulled Doris

and Marjorie out of their beds, and was wrapping them up in their

dressing-gowns with shaking fingers.

"News?" Doris gasped--"news of John?"

"News that'll shake England, aye, and Doblin too, to its foundations."

"Bernard?" Marjorie said unsteadily.

"Ye'll kindly come along with me," said Mrs. Murphy, and a strange

procession went down the stairs into the hall.

The three servants of the house were bundled into one corner, and the

less said about their attire the better. Lieutenant Murphy, in his

uniform, was trying to light candles, and his wrinkled face was brighter

than the flaring, smoking lamp which hung from the ceiling. In the

centre of the hall was a tall, clean-shaved, youngish-looking man. He

held a cocked hat in one hand and wore a uniform of dead black-blue.

Directly the old lady rolled down the stairs, followed by the frightened

girls, this new-comer made a step forward. His manners were perfect, and

he bowed as if he were at Court.

"Miss Joyce?--Miss Marjorie Joyce?"

"Faith, and they're the same, the very gurrls!" said Mrs. Murphy.

"I am sent by the First Lord, ladies, to give you some news, which I

understand will be most welcome. Lieutenant-Commander Bernard Carey, Mr.

John Carey, the two young gentlemen named Dickson, and Commander Carey's

three sailors, Scarlett, Adams and Bosustow, have covered themselves

with glory."

Doris was splendid.

"Ah!" she said, "we were waiting for this, my sister and myself. Are

they, are they--?" She could not go on.

"Madam, they are all safe and sound. Commander Carey is slightly

wounded--that is all. They have engaged in action with the great German

battleship, _Der Friesland_, and sunk her. They have sunk a transport.

They have evaded a flotilla of German destroyers. In short, they have

saved England. Our flotilla came up just in time. The Admiralty have had

wireless messages during the whole of the afternoon."

Hitherto, the officer--he looked thirty-five, was really fifty, and the

son of a duke--had spoken formally.

"Then?" Marjorie sighed.

"Then, it just amounts to this. No more glorious deed had ever been done

in the whole history of our Navy, from the days of Sir Francis Drake

down to this moment. I was privileged to be at the Palace a few hours

ago when the news was brought. Each member of the crew of the submarine

is to receive the Victoria Cross. It is not only by order of the First

Lord of the Admiralty, but also by express command of His Majesty that

I have motored down here to-night to bring you the news. My instructions

are to ask you if you will accompany me to-morrow to Harwich, for we

expect and hope that, during the earlier part of the afternoon...."

"They will come back!" Marjorie shouted.

"Precisely," said Lord William, "and, of course, you must be there to

meet them!"

"Gurrls, I'll chaperone ye! Now, get back to bed, and sleep--if ye can.

Shure, and I'm ashamed of ye appearin' in such dishybayle!" concluded

the merry old lady, with a wink.

She stood at the foot of the stairs and hooshed her young charges away.

Then she turned to her guest.

"Ye'll forgive an old woman appearin' like this," she said simply.

"Pathrick, take Lord William into the dining-room, and we'll make him

some supper in a moment. We're all friends in the Navy."

Her voice changed and became very grave.

"Blessings on you," she said, "that have brought the good news to this

house and to those dear gurrls this night!"

PART II.--RETURN OF THE SEVEN HEROES

It was a tall man with black hair, dark eyes and a pinched face. His

black, clerical clothes were rather rusty in the bright morning

sunlight, though they were his best.

"The young beggars!" he said, "the young beggars!" and there was a catch

in his voice. "A commission for both of them and a special allowance,

did you say, Lord William?"

"The Admiralty could do no less, Mr. Dickson. We want a thousand lads

like yours, if we could only get them. Not that any officer of their age

in the Navy wouldn't have done the same, but their names will be for

ever glorious in the history of the service. It is a feat that England

will never willingly forget. You know that they, as well as the rest,

are to have the Victoria Cross?"

Mr. Dickson stared, as if he saw something at a great distance.

"No," he said, "I didn't know that--er--excuse me for a moment."

The clergyman turned away to the window of the Admiral's office, which

overlooked Harwich Harbour, and his shoulders were shaking. "_Lord, now

lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word: for

mine eyes have seen----_"

"Shure, and they can't be long now, the Admiral says," came from Mrs.

Murphy, sitting in the Admiral's chair, at the Admiral's table, with all

sorts of confidential documents spread in front of her.

"Pathrick is to have the rank of Captain for the part he's tuk in it,

though that was pure luck and him being on the spot. And, bedad, we'll

have that motor cyar--and I never did see why a mere Docthor's wife like

Mrs. Pestle, and him little better than a vetherinary surgeon, should

keep a cyar when an officer in His Majesty's Navy couldn't!"

The Admiral in command at Harwich, a grizzled sailor who had been called

up from his peaceful Devon home to leave his pheasants and fat cattle,

came into the room, rubbing his hands.

"Well, they'll have the reception of their lives, young ladies," he said

beaming; and, with a clank of his sword as he sat down, "Mrs. Murphy, if

you attempt to read any of the papers on that table, I shall regretfully

be compelled to have you shot, which will mar the festivity of the

occasion! My dears, a special train full of journalists has just come

down from town. There are thousands of people flocking to the quays in

the spaces provided, and what the papers are saying about our friends

will astonish you."

He produced a copy of the _Daily Wire_ and opened it, while they all

crowded round to look. Modern journalism had secured a triumph. Short as

the time had been, there were columns and columns of description of the

events at Morstone of which hardly anybody had been allowed to know

anything--and the Battle in the North Sea, about which nobody knew but

the Admiralty.

There were portraits of the two Dickson boys, each apparently about

twelve years of age and in broad Eton collars. There was a truculent,

prize-fighting individual, with distinct side-whiskers, labelled, "Mr.

John Carey, M.A., the heroic schoolmaster who slew the Master-spy,

'Doctor Upjelly,' with his own hands." A smudge on the top of a uniform

represented Lieutenant-Commander Bernard Carey--also "heroic," with

sundry other adjectives; and if those excellent Plymouth ladies, Mrs.

Bosustow, Mrs. Scarlett and Mrs. Adams, had seen the people represented

in the newspaper as their lords and masters walk into Paradise Row,

Devonport, they certainly would not have known them.

Doris gasped. "To call that _John_!" she said; "what a wicked libel!

Couldn't the editor be arrested?"

"An editor is one of the people whom nothing can arrest," said the

Admiral. "'_In rebus desperatis remedia desperata_,' which means 'What

the public wants, the public must have, however short the time in which

to fake it up.'"

There was a knock at the door, and a young officer entered, saluting.

"Destroyers sighted, Sir," he said, not without an appreciative glance

at the two pretty girls close by. He handed a piece of paper to the

Admiral, adding: "Just come in by wireless from the _Arethusa_, Sir."

The old gentleman with the pointed beard and clanking sword read it. He

chuckled.

"Well," he said, "the public is going to have some fun for its money,

for Commander Carey is coming into harbour on board _his own_ boat. Now,

then, suppose we all go out to the signalling station at the end of the

Mole and get the first sight of them?"

* * * * *

Half a dozen clouds of black smoke upon the horizon, growing larger and

larger every minute; a great murmur of the crowd; officers in dress

uniform with binoculars at their eyes; a group of journalists in hard

felt hats, making notes!...

Now the destroyers can be seen in a half-circle, with three great ships

in the background.

"The Transports!" the Admiral said--"from seven to eight thousand

Germans in them--what a haul! Look, Mrs. Murphy, that is the Cruiser

_Arethusa_ by the side of them. I expect they had a handful in disarming

all those chaps, and they must be pretty short-handed on board the whole

flotilla, for they'll have had to send a lot of men aboard those two

liners. Fine boats, the new light cruisers, _Captain_ Murphy?"

The old lieutenant of Coastguards flushed with pleasure.

"Never had a chance to go to sea in one of them, Sir," he said--"long

after my time, I am sorry to say."

"Look!" Marjorie whispered to Doris, "they're opening out. Isn't it

wonderful? How near they're getting! It's just like a figure in the

Lancers."

Doris did not answer for a moment. Then she said:--"What's that, right

in the middle?"

The Admiral overheard her.

"You've quick eyes, young lady," he answered; "that, unless I am very

much mistaken, is a certain Submarine, lately in possession of the

Kaiser, and which people are talking about a good deal just now!"

It was so. The destroyers slowed down, and made a great lane upon the

sea. In the centre of this lane was something infinitely small, a black

speck, like a cork floating on the water.

It grew and grew.

Then, from somewhere not far away, there was the heavy boom of a gun.

Immediately, the air was rent with a noise like hundreds of bellowing

bulls as all the ships at anchor opened their steam-sirens until the

very stone quays trembled.

The cheers of thousands of voices, the wild tossing of hats into the

air, the fluttering of hand-kerchiefs like sudden snow; and then, the

Submarine, its whale-back ploughing through the Harbour waters, a white

wake of foam behind it, came into full view. From the periscope

fluttered two little flags, black and white. In half a minute the

cheering, delirious crowd saw what they were.

"The skull and cross-bones, by Jove--two of 'em!" said a young

lieutenant on the Admiral's Staff to his friend, a newly promoted

Commander.

"So it is! How on earth did they get those on board a German submarine?"

"Someone of resource on board has spent a happy hour or two on the

cruise home."

The young gentleman was right, but he did not know that Dickson max.'s

shirt and the back of Dickson major's coat were the materials used by

Mr. Scarlett, who was very handy with his needle.

"Here they come!"

"Here they come!" "Here they come" "Hurrah!" "Hurrah!"

Bang! went a whole salvo of guns. Upon the deck of the Submarine was a

little group of four figures, and, if the truth must be told, four

dirtier and more shame-faced human beings have rarely made a public

appearance.

"Those must be the boys," the lieutenant shouted in his friend's ear.

The other nodded. He was staring at the Submarine.

"By Jove!" he cried, "there's the 'Whelk,' the good old Whelk! Look at

him! We were at Osborne together, and he always swore he liked the

beastly things--so the name stuck to him. That other chap must be his

brother, I suppose--the schoolmaster Johnny."

"Good old Whe-e-lk!" he shouted, his hands to his mouth.

The lieutenant had never been shipmates with Bernard Carey. Also, his

eyes were elsewhere. He twitched his friend's arm.

"I say," he said, in an awed voice, "look at the faces of those two

girls!"

The Commander did so.

"Lucky old Whelk!"

THE END

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