A Prisoner of War
The Sub-lieutenant made the best of a bad job. Although weak with
exhaustion and exposure to the elements, he held his head high as he
was taken on board the submarine.
The coxswain and stroke of the whaler, who had assisted their young
officer, were curtly ordered back. The U-boat was not engaged upon an
errand of mercy. It was the British officer who was wanted for a
definite purpose. The men did not count. In the eyes of the Germans
the hapless British seamen were almost beneath notice, although in
other circumstances the Huns would have feared to have met them in
fair fight.
As he gained the bulging deck of the pirate craft, Seton, steadying
himself by the guard-rail, turned to bid good-bye and good luck to
his men. Guessing his intention the unter-leutnant gave a curt order.
Instantly two German sailors laid hold of the British officer; and
without ceremony took him below.
In the act of descending the vertical ladder, Alec caught sight of
Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert and the kapitan of the U-boat.
Both were vastly enjoying the British officer's discomfiture. Count
Otto, in spite of his injuries and dishevelled appearance, was
smoking a cigar and holding a steaming cup of "coffee substitute".
"I owe this young Englishman a debt," he remarked grimly to the
commander of the U-boat. "I will take good care that I repay it with
interest."
It was the Prussian touch all over. Von Brockdorff-Giespert totally
ignored the fact that his foes had saved his life. He attributed his
misfortunes mainly to Sub-lieutenant Seton, as if the latter had been
actuated by feelings of personal animosity rather than sheer devotion
to duty. Already the Hun had made up his mind to inflict every
possible indignity upon the prisoner.
Confined in a cramped, ill-ventilated and ill-lighted compartment in
close proximity to the wireless-generator-room, Seton strained his
ears in the hope of finding out what had happened to his whaler's
crew. The purr of the electric motors and the noise of men's voices
echoing and re-echoing in the interior of the huge metal cylinder
deadened all sounds from without.
The U-boat was submerging. Apparently she had not used her guns upon
the boat, for the recoil of the weapons would have been noticeable.
There was, however, the horrible possibility that, before diving, the
submarine had deliberately rammed the boat. Or, perhaps the Huns had
shot down every man in the whaler by rifle and pistol. That was one
of Fritz's little stunts--cold-blooded butchery.
After a while Alec thought it was time to look after himself, since
his captors evidently had no intention of attending to his personal
comfort. The warmth of the cell caused the moisture to steam from his
saturated clothes. Divesting himself of his garments he wrung them
out, and began to exercise his limbs to ward off the numbness that
assailed them.
Presently the door of his cell was thrown open and a seaman appeared
carrying a bowl of hot soup.
"Can I have my clothes dried?" asked Alec.
"It's not my work to dry the clothes of a schweinhund," replied the
fellow in English. Then he pointed to the Sub's wristlet watch.
"For that I will dry your things," he added.
"Right," replied Alec. "It isn't going, though. The water's spoilt
it."
"That is to be expected," rejoined the German, picking up the
saturated garments. Then waiting until Alec had handed over his
watch, he went out, to return presently with a canvas suit,
rust-marked and greasy.
"In case Herr Kapitan sends for you," explained the man, and without
another word he again backed out of the compartment and locked the
door.
While waiting for the soup to cool, the Sub, with feelings of
repugnance, put on the loaned suit. It felt damp and clammy and smelt
vilely. As for the soup it was little better than dish-water, greasy
and unpalatable, while with deliberate intent an excessive quantity
of salt had been put into the liquid. Nevertheless Alec took a
considerable quantity, for he was desperately famished, and the hot
concoction warmed his chilled body, for even in the warm atmosphere
cold chills were persistently passing over him.
For several hours--how long Alec had no accurate idea--the U-boat ran
submerged. As far as he could estimate it was about noon when she
came to the surface, only to dive again very quickly, to the
accompaniment of a couple of bombs from a British sea-plane. Although
wide of the mark the explosion of the missiles gave the submarine a
nasty shaking up, so much so, that the startled Huns allowed their
craft to rest on the bed of the North Sea until nightfall before
resuming their course.
It was during this period of enforced detention that Alec was
summoned to be examined by Kapitan-leutnant von Kloster.
Clad solely in his borrowed canvas suit, unshaven and unkempt, Alec
felt his position keenly. He realized that it was a hard matter to
preserve his dignity, when his appearance was like that of a greaser
of a third-rate tramp.
Attended by two stolid German seamen the prisoner was taken to the
kapitan's cabin. Seated on a settee by a narrow folding table were
Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert and Kapitan-leutnant von Kloster.
The former was rigged out in a uniform that evidently was von
Kloster's, judging by the fact that the Count was lightly-built and
his borrowed garments fitted him like a sack. His injured arm was in
a sling, while, as the result of his immersion and subsequent
prolonged stay in the whaler, he had contracted a very bad cold.
Von Kloster, on the other hand, was stout, florid-featured, and
well-groomed. He had the typical Prussian "square head", the contour
of the back of his head and neck forming practically a straight line.
His moustache he wore with the points upturned after the fashion set
by his Imperial master.
On a camp-stool at the other end of the table sat the unter-leutnant,
Kaspar Diehardt, a very young and very bumptious Prussian. His
bulging forehead contrasted vividly with his insignificant, receding
chin, while his watery blue eyes belied the suggestion that he could
ever become an efficient leader of men.
With paper and ink in front of him he sat gnawing the end of his
quill pen, as if his thoughts were constantly of the ever-present
danger that threatened those who go down into the sea in German
submarines.
In his broken English von Kloster demanded Alec's name, rank, the
vessel to which he belonged and her approximate position when
torpedoed.
"You may yourself think fortunate that no lies you haf told,"
remarked his interrogator. "All this information I haf. Now, tell me:
for what reason was der _Bolero_ an' oder schips off der Nord
Hinder?"
"That I cannot tell you," replied the Sub.
"Do you know?"
"I refuse to answer this question."
The Kapitan-leutnant addressed several words to his subordinate, the
latter writing diligently for some moments.
It was an acute period of suspense for Seton. The silence was only
broken by the scratching of the temporary secretary's pen, while the
Count and von Kloster kept their eyes fixed on the prisoner. Alec was
beginning to feel the effects of the salt soup. A burning thirst
gripped his throat.
"Now, you have time had," continued his inquisitor. "Will you
answer?"
Seton shook his head. Even if he wanted to speak his parched tongue
seemed unequal to the task. But that was not the reason. At all
costs, he determined to refuse to give any information likely to be
of service to the enemy.
"Answer!" shouted Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert, bringing his
fist down upon the table and wincing at the effort.
"Water!" gasped Alec.
The Kapitan-leutnant gave an order to one of the men. The fellow
saluted and went out, presently to return with a carafe full of
water, and a glass. Very deliberately von Kloster filled the glass
almost to the brim and offered it to the prisoner. Then, as Seton
stepped eagerly forward to take the liquid, the Kapitan-leutnant
withdrew the glass.
"After you spoken haf, not before," he reminded with tantalizing
cunning.
"I see you to blazes first!" Alec said hoarsely, with an effort.
"Ach, goot!" rejoined von Kloster sneeringly. "We shall see. I leave
der matter in der hands of mine chief."
"Quite so," assented Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert. "I may tell
you, prisoner, that the information you refuse to give is already at
our disposal. How remains our affair? I can tell you this with
absolute certainty: either you will remain a prisoner of war until
the end of hostilities, or you will not leave this U-boat alive.
Rescue is entirely out of the question. Hence it does not matter
whether I tell you a British naval secret. Those tramp steamers you
were escorting were decoys. It was the intention of the British
Admiral to sacrifice those ships in the hope that our torpedo-boat
flotilla at Zeebrugge would be lured out to bite a tempting bait.
While our boats were engaged thus, your destroyers were to attempt a
raid upon our new naval base, which, like Antwerp in the time of
Napoleon, is a pistol aimed at the heart of England. Unfortunately
for you, the plan miscarried. Instead of our torpedo flotilla
appearing, some of our _unterseebooten_ were lying at the rendezvous,
and, as a result, you are here."
He paused to watch the effect of his words. Not a muscle of the Sub's
face moved. Outwardly his face was an imperturbable mask, although he
was suffering the torments of acute thirst.
"And, since you are, like many others of our enemies, very curious to
know what is developing at Zeebrugge," continued the Count, "it will
afford me great pleasure there to offer you hospitality--of a kind. I
mean to provide you with quarters and rations in a comfortable post
on the Mole of Zeebrugge. If your pestering compatriots come flying
over and drop bombs, and you happen to fall a victim, the
responsibility is theirs, not mine. If, again, you are anxious to
exchange your quarters for others beyond the Rhine, you have but to
answer a few questions and the transfer will take effect."
Then, finding that Seton was apparently quite indifferent to this
proposal, von Brockdorff-Giespert lost all control of his temper.
For fully two minutes he raved and threatened both in English and
German. Had it not been for his injuries he would doubtless have
struck his prisoner in the face. At length, after giving various
instructions to von Kloster and Unter-leutnant Diehardt, he ordered
the prisoner to be removed.
"The rascals look like being right," thought Alec on finding himself
again in the cell. "Either this U-boat returns to Zeebrugge, or she
does not. If she doesn't, it means that she'll be strafed properly.
The Huns seem keenly alive to the possibility."
The Sub had not been very many minutes alone, when the seaman
returned with his clothes. Giving a sort of superior smile, the
fellow placed the bundle on the floor, and, without a word, backed
out and relocked the door.
A brief examination showed that the Hun had broken the compact. He
had Alec's wristlet watch, but no attempt had been made to dry the
things. The uniform and underclothes were almost as wet as when Alec
had arrived on board the U-boat.
Two hours later the submarine blew her ballast tanks and rose to the
surface. The electric-motors were cut off, and the surface
petrol-engines started and coupled up. All immediate danger was past,
and the U-boat once more shaped a course for Zeebrugge.
Presently Seton was given another bowl of so-called soup and a piece
of black bread. One taste of the former was sufficient. It was
excessively salt. The bread, too, had a saline taste, and was as dry
as sawdust, but Alec derived some relief to his burning throat by
slowly chewing the unpalatable substance.
"And I've to thank the British Navy for this," thought Alec,
critically regarding the black war bread. "Evidently efficacious, if
Fritz and all his kind are compelled to carry on with this. Hallo!
What's the game now?"
For the U-boat had suddenly commenced to submerge once more, the
steep diving angle indicating that the action was not entirely
voluntary on the part of her nerve-racked pirate crew.