conscious of the fixed gaze, and his hand went up to the decoration. He
gripped it in his fingers, and tearing it off, threw the medal
contemptuously from him.
"But he was your friend," continued the quartermaster. "He was your
superior officer. He was doing his duty to the Fatherland. He was
obeying his orders!"
"He was not bound to obey an order to take the lives of hundreds of
innocent people--peaceful, unarmed travellers," Max objected warmly.
"But you did not prevent him," rejoined the quarter-master. "The
torpedo was discharged. I, myself, discharged it."
"Yes, unfortunately it was discharged." Max nodded gravely. "It was
discharged, and it struck the target at which it was aimed. Even at
this moment that great ship is sinking and her passengers and crew are
struggling to save themselves."
"That is good," said the quarter-master with a chuckle of satisfaction.
"It is a blow from which our English enemies will not soon recover. The
whole world will now know that our enterprising submarines are more
powerful than all Great Britain's boasted battleships." He returned to
the engine-room and told his expectant companions that the mighty
Atlantic liner had been sent to the bottom. They cheered noisily and
started singing, and their singing and cheering only ceased when they
learned that their commander was dead.
Many of them deserted their stations to make a rush at Max Hilliger.
They called him an assassin, a traitor. They declared that he was at
heart a contemptible Englishman, and that he ought never to have been
allowed to enter the Kaiser's navy.
But while they clamoured for his life they realised that in their
present situation they could not well do without him. There was only
one other of their officers capable of assuming the command and
navigating them home--a sub-lieutenant named Adolf von Wiebe. It was
necessary, therefore, that Max Hilliger should continue to act as an
officer, taking watch and watch about with Lieutenant von Wiebe, until
they should join the main fleet beyond Heligoland, and hand him over for
punishment.
"In the meantime," said Lieutenant von Wiebe, "you will consider
yourself under arrest."
"Naturally," returned Max. "And you need not suppose that I wish to
escape the penalty for what I have done. I told Hermann Koerner that if
he fired that torpedo I would shoot him. Instead of warning him I ought
to have shot him as soon as I knew that the liner had come in sight. It
was he who was the murderer, not I."
"He did his duty," argued Wiebe. "He obeyed his instructions. It was
to sink that liner that we came out here into the open sea. The whole
thing was planned and arranged weeks ago. The owners of the ship were
warned. The passengers were told before they left America that they
would sail in that steamer at their own risk. The captain could have
escaped us if he had taken a different course. Why did not the British
Navy protect her by sending a cruiser convoy with her?"
"Because," Max reported, "the British Navy trusted that Germany had
still a little honour and humanity left, and that no German submarine
commander would be so brutal and cowardly as to fire a torpedo into an
unarmed passenger steamer, carrying neutral Americans and women and
little children. But that is where Great Britain and all other
civilised nations have made the mistake. They have given Germany more
credit than she deserved. She has no honour and no humanity, but only
deceit and falsehood and cruelty."
"Be careful what you are saying," cautioned Lieutenant von Wiebe.
"Remember that we are at war, and that our whole existence as a nation
depends upon our conquest of Great Britain."
"War?" rejoined Max. "But war has its laws as well as peace. We
Germans have broken those laws. Our enemies--Russia, France, and Great
Britain--are playing the game fairly and honestly; but we are not. You
know this as well as I do, only you shut your eyes to it all. From the
very start, when we invaded Belgium, we've been worse than savages,
robbing and murdering peaceful citizens, destroying their beautiful
cathedrals, wrecking their homes. We've gone out of our way to bombard
unfortified towns; we've hit below the belt. When we couldn't break
through our enemies' lines, we have forced them back by using poison
gas; when we've been too cowardly to engage their battleships in open
fight we have sunk their merchant vessels and helpless fishing boats.
And now there is this greatest crime of all--the sinking of the
_Ruritania_. I tell you, Adolf, I am sick of it all, and I hope, as I
firmly believe, that Germany will be beaten."
Adolf von Wiebe forced himself to laugh.
"You are hoping for the impossible," he said. "Germany can never be
beaten. Do you think that we have been preparing for this war all these
years only to be defeated in the end? Why, this very sinking of the
liner--one of the biggest ships that ever sailed the seas--is a proof of
our power. As for Great Britain--she is not worth talking about. You,
who have lived in England, should know better than to imagine that she
could have a ghost of a chance against so mighty an empire as ours!
Sooner than you suppose, Great Britain will have ceased to exist."
"It is because I have lived in England that I am so sure that she will
be victorious," persisted Max. "And if I could escape----"
"Escape? Escape from a submarine? Oh, no, I shall see to it that you
don't escape, my fine fellow! You are as safe here as if you were
imprisoned in a fortress. And since you cannot escape, there is no need
to put you in irons. I will allow you to continue with your duties,
and, notwithstanding your silly prejudices and scruples, I shall trust
you not to put any obstacles in our way when it is a question of sinking
a few more ships. We still have some torpedoes left, and I intend to
use them."
"We shall need more petrol," Max told him sullenly.
"That will be forthcoming," returned Lieutenant von Wiebe. "A supply
ship will meet us."
"Where?" Max asked.
"Never mind where. It is perhaps as well that you should be kept in
ignorance of the situation."
Max could only very vaguely guess at the course which the U50 was now
taking. He was not allowed to handle the charts or to know more than
the general direction as indicated by the compass, which usually pointed
northward.
As previously arranged, the submarine's two consorts separated from her
when the _Ruritania_ had been dealt with. Their instructions were that
they were to proceed across the Bay of Biscay and through the Straits of
Gibraltar into the Mediterranean to attack British and French warships
operating in the Dardanelles; but the U50 had not been fitted for so
long a voyage.
As much as possible she was kept submerged, or with only her periscopes
above the surface. No ships were chased or attacked. It seemed to Max
that it was the purpose of Lieutenant von Wiebe to get as far away as
possible from the scene of the foundering of the _Ruritania_, and to
avoid all accidents which might bring him under suspicion of having been
concerned in that disaster.
Once, when the submarine was passing abreast of a wild, rocky coast, Max
was at the periscope. In the mirror he saw reflected the grey shape of a
small British cruiser lying at anchor within easy torpedo range.
In ordinary circumstances he would have rejoiced at the opportunity of
doing damage to an enemy ship; he would instantly have commanded the
crew to their firing stations and manoeuvred to take aim.
But now he told himself that, as he was practically a condemned
prisoner, a mutineer who had disavowed his loyalty to Germany, it was no
longer a part of his duty even to report the fact that the cruiser was
within striking distance. So he kept silent, and the U50 proceeded on
her secret way, and Max Hilliger was never suspected of his duplicity.
On the following morning he heard the chief engineer announcing to the
commander that they were becoming perilously short of petrol.
Lieutenant von Wiebe showed no concern.
"Within two hours," he said, "we shall be in touch with the supply ship.
We will creep into one of these bays and get into communication with our
wireless."
And in the stated time the Marconi aerials were at work.
*CHAPTER XXXIV.*
*THE SUPPLY SHIP.*
The British cruiser which Max Hilliger had seen through the periscope of
the U50 was H.M.S. _Dauntless_. She had been on coast patrol duty for
some days in northern waters, watching for neutral ships and boarding
them to examine their papers and inquire into the nature of their
cargoes.
Most of them had given a satisfactory account of themselves, and had
been allowed to pass on to their intended destinations. But one of
them, an old green-painted barque flying the Swedish flag, had at once
aroused suspicion by the fact that she was fitted with wireless aerials.
A shot was fired across her bow, and she shortened sail. Captain Damant
sent a boat aboard of her in charge of a second lieutenant, who was
accompanied by Midshipman Rodney Redisham.
Rodney Redisham read the name _Olaf Triggvason_ on the vessel's side,
but he did not take any great interest in her while he waited for the
lieutenant's return into the boat. The examination seemed to take an
unusually long time, and he wondered if anything contraband had been
discovered.
Presently the lieutenant appeared in the open gangway, and began to
signal back by semaphore to the _Dauntless_. Rodney understood the
message that was sent. It was that a quantity of naphtha and benzine
had been discovered in the barque's cargo; that the captain was a
German, and that his secret purpose was to supply a German submarine,
which he confessed that he expected.
An answer came back from the cruiser:
"Stay where you are, and we will come alongside."
The _Dauntless_ steamed slowly up, and the German captain was taken on
board of her as a prisoner, to be interrogated by Captain Damant.
Shortly afterwards the whole of the crew were taken off and sent below
into the seamen's quarters.
The proceedings were quite unusual, and Rodney Redisham did not
understand them. Enlightenment came to him, however, when, instead of
the barque's own crew, the same number of British seamen dressed up in
the foreigners' clothes were put on board the _Olaf_. He himself was
ordered to exchange his midshipman's uniform for canvas breeches and an
engineer's jumper. Two lieutenants were similarly disguised, and put in
command of the barque.
Rodney began to experience the excitement of a prospective adventure.
The excitement was increased when three machine guns were transferred
from the _Dauntless_ to the decks of the _Olaf Triggvason_.
When all was ready the cruiser steamed away and the barque's sails were
braced. Her German captain, under pressure, had given the bearings of
the spot near which he had been instructed to lie in wait for the
submarine, and for this spot the course was set.
It was in a secluded bay between two barren headlands, far away from any
habitation. Outside this bay the vessel tacked to and fro and back and
forth; but there was no sign of any submarine.
At the end of the first day the senior lieutenant shook his head and
declared his belief that the German captain had deceived them. He
anchored, knowing that no submarine would expect to find the ship in
darkness. But at dawn he again set sail, and cruised within a radius of
about a dozen miles. Returning towards the headlands at noon he was
about to tack out again when his Marconi operator called him below.
Some ship was trying to open communications.
The lieutenant went to the instrument-room, and a message came to him in
international code asking the name of his ship. He purposely delayed
his answer until the question had been repeated several times, then,
giving the name of the ship, he added a guarded question in German.
There was no response for a long time; but he waited patiently, and at
length a series of searching questions came to him as though they were
from a British warship, demanding to know his exact position and
destination and the nature of his cargo.
He knew perfectly well that there was no British warship, excepting the
_Dauntless_, within twenty miles of him, but he answered with all the
cunning which would enable his questioner to understand that the way was
clear. Already he was convinced that he was speaking with the commander
of a German submarine, and at length came the message:
"All right. I am the U50. I am short of oil. Stay where you are, and I
will come alongside you within an hour."
That hour gave the lieutenant ample time in which to prepare a surprise
for his expected visitor, to keep his men out of sight beside their
concealed guns, and to place the ship in such a position that the guns
would cover the submarine when it should rise to the surface and come
alongside. He kept the Swedish flag flying, but had a British ensign
ready to take its place at the appropriate moment.
Rodney Redisham, leaning lazily over the rail at the break of the poop,
was the first to discover the movement of the submarine's periscope
along the sea's ruffled surface. It was approaching on the starboard
side. He reported to the lieutenant, and the helm was put over, so that
the barque fell off the wind and lay with her sails swaying empty. The
side gangway was opened. Then the submarine, drawing nearer, rose to
the surface until her whole length was visible from stem to stern.
Lieutenant von Wiebe and the quarter-master stepped out on the
conning-tower platform, and a gang of seamen emerged from the forward
hatchway to be ready to take in the new supply of oil.
As they drew closer, steering to come alongside, Wiebe shouted a
greeting to the _Olaf Triggvason_, and a couple of English sailors,
looking very like Germans, climbing up the main shrouds, waved their
arms and cried aloud:
"Hoch! Hoch!"
Slowing down, the submarine drifted nearer, until only a few yards of
clear, green water separated her from the barque. More of her crew
clambered out upon her long, narrow deck, with Max Hilliger in their
midst.
Max had discarded his naval uniform. He was barefooted and bareheaded,
and wore only a pair of greasy serge trousers and a grey flannel shirt.
Suddenly the Swedish flag was hauled down from the barque's mizzen, and
the British ensign was run up in its place. From the opening of the
gangway the shining barrel of a machine-gun was thrust out, two
machine-guns appeared between gaps in the poop rail, and along the
starboard bulwarks half a dozen British bluejackets levelled their
rifles at the German commander and his men. The senior lieutenant, no
longer disguised, but in the honourable uniform of a British officer,
stood forward at the gangway.
"You will surrender, or I shall sink you," he commanded calmly, as if he
were merely giving instructions as to how the submarine should come
closer alongside.
Adolf von Wiebe shrank back like an animal at bay, and glanced
agitatedly from side to side for a means of escape. But there was none.
He could not submerge; he could not take flight. It was useless to
think of fighting, and the three quick-firing guns, as well as half a
dozen rifles, were levelled menacingly at his ship and his men and
himself. It is clear that he had no alternative but to yield.
He shrugged his shoulders in abject despair.
"_Ja wohl_," he responded, with a forced laugh. "You 'ave shove me in
ver' difficult corner, _mein Herr_. It is no good. Ze game is hup. I
surrender. I mek ze salute."
Drawing his bare feet together and standing very upright, he raised his
hand to his cap in formal German fashion, and his crew, one and all,
followed his example.
"And now, vot next, if you please?" he asked.
"You will bring your crew on board here," he was told. "Within an hour
a British cruiser will be with us to take possession of your submarine."
Ropes were thrown across, and when a gang plank was in place the thirty
German prisoners marched disconsolately on board the barque.
The last in the file was Max Hilliger. As he passed by Rodney Redisham
he gave a start of recognition.
"Hullo!" he cried, lifting his hand to his forehead. "I'm glad to see
an English face again--one that I know. You have outwitted us this time
very cleverly, but quite honestly. The English are always honest. They
always play the game." And, lowering his voice, he added, "I wish I
could say the same of the Germans."
"But you oughtn't to be disloyal to your own people," said Redisham.
"I can't help it," returned Max, standing in front of the midshipman.
"I've been mistaken in them all along, and I've had enough of them. You
see, I went to school in England, and that has made a heap of
difference."
"Yes, and you became a Sea Scout," nodded Redisham, slowly putting out
his hand.
Max Hilliger looked down at it, and shook his head.
"That's just like you," he said, "offering to shake hands with a beaten
enemy. You're very good, but I can't do it. I am not worthy to take
the hand of an English gentleman. My own isn't clean enough."
He was remembering what had happened in the conning-tower of the
submarine. He was remembering how he had taken part in many an act of
piracy against British ships, and his heart was heavy with remorse. He
turned away, and walked aft. Rodney Redisham watched him, and wondered
if his apparent humility were genuine.
Max Hilliger made his way to the poop, climbed the companion ladder, and
continued his way to the taffrail. For a moment it seemed to Redisham
that he was about to fling himself overboard, and so escape the payment
as a prisoner of war.
Max turned and strode back to the binnacle, stood beside it, and then
lifted his eyes to the ensign fluttering proudly in the breeze. He
glanced round to assure himself that he was not being watched, and then,
alone and, as he believed, unseen, he raised his hand to the salute.
*CHAPTER XXXV.*
*PRISONERS OF WAR.*
"Hurry up, Newruck, or we shall not get out of harbour until this ship
comes in. Bring along that hamper."
Scoutmaster Arnold Bilverstone was taking the Lion Patrol out for a two
days' cruise in their cutter. They had intended to be away for a week,
but Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole could not spare so much time.
They had both been appointed to a new trawler to go on active service.
They were not supposed to talk about it, but the whole patrol knew that
the destination of their two lucky companions was the Dardanelles, where
they were to engage in the work of sweeping for German and Turkish
mines.
Naturally they were very much envied. They would cross the Bay of
Biscay, and see the Rock of Gibraltar. They would steam the whole
length of the Mediterranean, and perhaps even go as far as
Constantinople. There were glorious possibilities in the adventure, but
more than all was the chance they would have of really helping in the
war and watching the _Queen Elizabeth_ firing her great fifteen-inch
guns into the Turkish forts.
Compared with such prospects, a trip in the _Be Prepared_ was a very
small affair indeed.
"I'm afraid we are too late already, sir," said Darby Catchpole, looking
out through the harbour mouth to where a panting tug boat was bringing
in a strange-looking, green-painted barque.
Mark Redisham followed his glance.
"She's a foreigner," he decided, "and yet she's flying the British flag!
How's that? Hullo! look, Mr. Bilverstone! There's a naval officer on
her poop deck, and there are some of our bluejackets among her crew."
Mr. Bilverstone was so much interested in the vessel that he stepped out
on to the quay and strode along towards the end of the pier. Presently
he signalled to the Scouts to join him.
"I expect she's been captured," he said, as the barque came nearer.
"Perhaps she has been caught carrying contraband of war."
The tug glided in between the piers, and as the barque followed at the
end of the towing warp Mark read the name _Olaf Triggvason_ on her
green-painted side. Looking down on her main deck he saw a crowd of
foreign sailors lying or seated on the hatch cover, guarded by armed
bluejackets. Some of them looked like officers; others were dressed as
naval seamen.
"Prisoners of war," said Mr. Bilverstone.
Then he leant forward more eagerly. One of the prisoners, the youngest
and most ragged of the lot, had stood up on the hatch cover. He looked
across at the group on the quay, and smiled wanly as he raised his hand
to the Scout's salute.
"Why, it's Max Hilliger!" cried Darby Catchpole. "And the others must be
his shipmates off the submarine! Let us wait and see them brought
ashore."
The _Olaf Triggvason_ was warped alongside the pier before being taken
through the bridge into the inner harbour. Officers from the naval base
went aboard. As soon as it became known in the port that a captive ship
had been brought in many of the townspeople thronged to the pier, but
Police-constable Challis drove them back, and a barrier was drawn
across.
In the meantime, Midshipman Rodney Redisham had stepped ashore from the
barque to greet his brother Mark.
"So you've sunk a submarine?" said Mark.
"We may have captured one," returned Rodney.
"It was the U50 of course," pursued Mark. "You've got Max Hilliger a
prisoner. It's a good thing to have put an end to the U50. She's done
a lot of damage one way and another."
"Most of the German submarine commanders have tried to do that," said
Rodney. "I suppose it was their duty. You can't blame the officers.
They've got to obey their sailing orders."
"What, even when they're told to sink such a ship as the _Ruritania_?"
questioned Darby Catchpole.
"Oh, but Max Hilliger was never concerned with a crime like that!"
declared Mark Redisham.
"I should hope not," added his brother. "From what I know of him I
believe he'd sooner go on strike than have a hand in sinking any but
enemy ships of war. But, of course, we've never asked them any
questions."
He paused for a moment, and then added:
"I've had several talks with Max Hilliger, and he isn't a bad sort of
chap at heart. He's a German, but I believe he'd much rather fight for
our King than for the Kaiser."
"Strictly between ourselves," interposed Constable Challis, "I don't
think he'll have a chance of fightin' for either."
"Ah, they're being brought ashore now!" said Mr. Bilverstone. "I expect
they're going off by the 3-20 train to one of the concentration camps.
Attention, Scouts!"
The troop stood in line, and as the prisoners marched by, Max Hilliger
walked with his head bowed and his hand raised to his cap. Suddenly he
stopped and looked round at his former companions.
"It's jolly good of you chaps not to mock and jeer at me," he said
bravely; "but I may tell you that I am glad to be here--back again in
England. And--and," he stammered, "God save the King."