A NOVEL DUCK HUNT
HAVING secured the surviving Germans from the submarine, and made
certain that the Huns had not taken steps to destroy their craft on
surrendering, Tressidar "wirelessed" the commander-in-chief at
Devonport, reporting the capture and requesting that assistance would
be sent to tow the prize into port.
The crews of the two Brixham boats cast off and resumed their
interrupted run home, as unconcernedly as if bagging "U" boats was an
everyday task. At the same time they took good care formally to make
a claim for services rendered to the State, and this Tressidar
countersigned according to their request.
It was nearly six in the evening before two destroyers arrived from
Devonport. One of them took the captured submarine in tow, the other
"stood by" in case another "U" boat might be lurking in the track of
the prize.
Cracking on full speed to make up for the delay, the "Gannet" came
within sight of St. Catherine's light by midnight, and having
exchanged secret signals with the patrols in the Outer Examination
Ground, she rounded the Nab Lightship and dropped anchor off St.
Helen's.
The "Anzac" had already arrived and had gone into Portsmouth Harbour
to ship additional ammunition. Barely had the "Gannet" brought up
when a Government tug came alongside with her new crew, and took off
Tressidar and the men lent from the monitor.
Hardly had the tug backed clear of the trawler when the latter began
to heave up anchor. Five minutes later she was under way, bound for
the North Sea.
"Something brewing, sir," remarked the master of the tug to the sub.
"A whole crowd of them left Poole for the east'ard this afternoon,
and seven from Portsmouth. There'll be a hot time out yonder, I'm
thinking, before many more days are passed."
The "Anzac" was lying at No. 5 buoy. Her gunnery trials had been
postponed by wireless on the run from Plymouth, and orders had been
given for her to proceed alongside the Dockyard jetty to allow
workmen to make important alterations to the mountings of the 14-in.
guns.
Working day and night, the task would be completed in about
forty-eight hours, in spite of the fact that the armoured roof of the
turret had to be unriveted and removed before the work could be
tackled.
"Rotten news, old man," was Eric Greenwood's greeting when the chums
met on the following morning. "Seen to-day's paper? No? It concerns
that slippery spy, Oberfurst."
"Not escaped?" asked Tressidar eagerly.
"Yes," replied the A.P. "And for once at least the authorities have
acted promptly and have enlisted the aid of the Press. Here you
are--a quarter of a column, with a detailed description of the wanted
man."
The news was unfortunately only too true. The spy had been lodged in
a cell in the county police-station, pending a decision as to whether
he should be handed over to the civil, naval, or military authorities
for trial.
A dull-witted policeman, whose activities hitherto had been
restricted to "running in" tramps and vagrants and stopping motorists
for exceeding a speed-limit that existed only in his imagination, had
been detailed to keep watch on the prisoner. At four in the morning
Oberfurst was apparently asleep. At half-past the constable, on
looking through the observation hole in the door, saw the spy lying
at full length on the floor with a gaping wound in his throat.
Instead of calling for assistance, the overzealous policeman unlocked
the door with a view to rendering first aid, instead of which he
received a blow over the head with the prisoner's supper-bowl that
stretched him senseless across the threshold.
Not until six did the sergeant discover the still unconscious
constable, and by that time Oberfurst had received a good hour and a
half's start.
A piece of torn red silk handkerchief left in the vacant cell
revealed the nature of the spy's ruse. He had tied the crimson fabric
round his throat, and in the artificial light the deception was
sufficiently realistic to delude the gaoler completely.
The papers, however, were convinced that recapture was the matter of
a few hours only, as the district was being thoroughly searched by a
strong force of police assisted by the military.
Eric Greenwood, well conversant with the rugged nature of Dartmoor,
was of a different opinion, and Tressidar, who had occasion to
remember the spy's cunning and daring, was obliged to admit his
chum's arguments.
It was recognised, however, that the spy would have great difficulty
in getting out of the country, should he wish to do so. Tressidar had
previously reported that Oberfurst was in the habit of crossing to
the Continent in the rôle of an American Red Cross emissary, and at
all the seaports particular watch was kept upon every traveller.
Ignorant of the fact that the deception had been discovered--unless
the secret leaked out and came to the ears of the numerous German
agents still active in Great Britain--Oberfurst might be tempted to
risk another trip to Denmark or Holland.
This the authorities hoped he would do, for his capture would then be
almost a certainty, while so long as he remained in the country he
was a source of danger and anxiety to the realm.
The alterations to the "Anzac's" armament having been completed, the
monitor proceeded to the back of the Wight to "calibrate." The gun
trials being successful, she proceeded in company with two other
monitors up Channel.
It was blowing fairly hard from the south-east'ard, and directly the
three ungainly vessels cleared Spithead, they promptly showed what
"wet" craft they were. The "Anzac's" low freeboard offered no
protection from the "combers" that swept fore and aft, drenching the
lofty bridge with blinding showers of spray.
When abreast of the "Royal Sovereign" lightship the wind veered a
point or two until it was fairly abeam. The monitor now commenced to
roll horribly, at one moment thrusting her bulging sides deeply into
the sea, at another rearing until she showed her weather bilge-keel.
Had there been occasion to use her two 14-in. guns, it would have
been impossible to train them with any degree of accuracy. Suitable
for fair weather and in sheltered waters, the "Anzac," like the rest
of her class, proved herself a mean substitute for the
super-Dreadnoughts, whose bulk and draught rendered them admirably
steady gun-platforms.
"Give me something with plenty of draught," thought Tressidar, as the
"Anzac" gave an extra heavy roll. "A craft that will grip the water.
If it gets much worse, she'll either have to cut and run for it, or
else stand a good chance of going to Davy Jones."
"She'll take it quietly under the lee of the Belgian coast," remarked
the navigating lieutenant, who had read his comrade's thoughts.
"Especially if the wind veers a few points more."
Early next morning the "Anzac" dropped anchor within the Admiralty
breakwater at Dover. Here a flotilla was assembling for the impending
operations off the Flanders coast. One of the periodical visits to
the German works at Zeebrugge was to be made on an imposing scale.
With the enormous sea-power at their disposal the British Admiralty
could with little exertion drive the Huns away from the Belgian
coast; but this for strategic reasons was undesirable. The Allied
left wing rested on the sea. From the sea it could be fed and
supplied with ammunition, and there was no danger of the flank being
turned. On the other hand the Germans, not having command of the sea,
were under obvious disadvantages. They were constantly open to the
fire of British monitors. Thousands of troops had to hold their right
flank without being able to fire a shot at the Belgian and British
trenches, which terminated thirty or forty miles short of the Dutch
frontier. Fears of an invasion under the guns of the British fleet
compelled the Huns to hold the useless coast. Zeebrugge, on which
they fixed their hopes as a base for their submarines, was no longer
tenable. Its mole had been destroyed, its docks and canal basins
rendered useless by the British guns. Without attempting to board a
single soldier, the British kept a couple of German Army Corps
literally on thorns.
At daybreak the monitors, accompanied by a number of destroyers and
patrol craft, were within seven miles of the Belgian coast. The
British tars made their preparations with grim earnestness and
without undue haste.
Amongst the many services to be performed before the huge guns began
to hurl their enormous projectiles at the foe, the buoyage of the
adjacent neutral waters of Holland had to be made.
For this task a number of picquet-boats were detailed, each under the
charge of a sub-lieutenant, who in turn were under the orders of a
senior lieutenant. Skill in taking bearings was essential, since
there was no desire to err even a cable's length on the neutral side.
Amongst the subs. detailed was Ronald Tressidar, who had to proceed
to a point exactly on the three-mile limit, the position being
"checked" by independent observations.
Lashed across the bows of the picquet-boat was a nun-buoy roughly
three feet in diameter and four betwixt apex and apex. To the
lowermost ring of the buoy, which was painted in red, white, and blue
horizontal bands, was shackled fifty fathoms of light chain. At the
other end of the chain was a "span" of heavier cable, each arm
terminating in a fifty-six pound mushroom anchor.
A quarter of a mile to the nor'east'ard a Dutch cruiser was forging
slowly through the water, her officers critically interested in the
work of the British picquet-boats. The German batteries had refrained
from opening fire, possibly on account of the proximity of the
neutral cruiser, although it afterwards transpired that there was
quite another reason for their passivity.
Keeping his picquet-boat running dead slow, bows on to the tide, so
that the little craft was practically stationary over the ground,
Tressidar determined his position.
"That's about it, sir, I think," he called out, addressing the senior
officer, who was in another steamboat a short distance away.
"Near enough," replied the lieutenant. "At all events, I don't
suppose the Dutchmen will quibble over it."
"Stand by to let go!" ordered the sub., speaking to the seamen
for'ard. "Lower away roundly."
Mushroom anchor No. 1 disappeared with a splash, and having made sure
that it was holding, Tressidar ordered easy ahead so as to drop the
second anchor well clear of the former.
"Let go!"
The second anchor clattered overboard, taking with it the length of
chain and the nun-buoy. Then, to the sub.'s surprise, the buoy,
instead of floating sedately upon the surface, began to move rapidly
through the water, impelled by some unseen force. So great was the
rate of progress that the buoy frequently dragged beneath the
surface, leaving a tell-tale swirl in its wake. Its direction was
roughly south-west, which meant that it was being dragged away from
neutral waters.
In a trice Tressidar grasped the situation.
"Full speed ahead, both engines!" he shouted, at the same time
bidding the coxswain put the helm hard over and keep the picquet-boat
dead on the buoy.
The lieutenant in the other steam-boat, having seen the nun-buoy
dropped, was proceeding to another position when he, too, noticed
that something was amiss, and promptly turned his craft and followed.
"Submarine foul of the bridle, sir, I think," shouted Tressidar
through a megaphone.
The lieutenant had no doubt on that score, for being well astern, his
steamboat was in the "wash" of the submerged craft, while the sub.,
being almost immediately above the submarine, was well in front of
the disturbed water.
"Collar that buoy," sung out the sub., addressing the two bowmen. The
latter, armed with long boathooks, poised themselves on the lurching
fore-deck, like harpooners waiting for a whale to appear.
"Got her, sir," shouted one of the seamen, as he deftly engaged the
head of the boathook in the metal rung of the nun-buoy. "She's
carrying too much way; I can't get her aboard."
"Hold her, both of you!" exclaimed Tressidar, fearful lest the ring
would carry away and the chain disappear from sight.
The picquet-boat was certainly gaining upon the submerged craft, for
in a little while the seamen reported that the strain on the cable
was diminishing. At length, by dint of the united efforts of the two
men, the nun-buoy and about two fathoms of chain were lifted on the
deck of the boat, and a couple of turns taken round the pedestal of
the for'ard gun.
"Got her, by Jove!" exclaimed the sub. triumphantly as he ordered the
engines to be stopped and allowed the picquet-boat to be towed by the
submerged craft.
The trapped submarine had attempted to steal towards the British
monitors, and having taken her bearing through her periscope, had
submerged in Dutch waters. This was obvious, since the buoy, actually
on the line of demarkation, had been swept away from the neutral
zone.
At first her commander had been ignorant of the unpleasant fact that
he was towing a British picquet-boat in addition to dragging two
mushroom anchors over the sandy bottom; but when he made the
disconcerting discovery he altered his course and attempted to make
for Zeebrugge. This he did blindly, since he dare not rise to show
her periscope above the surface. By dint of careful helmsmanship the
picquet-boat also turned and kept dead in the wake of her invisible
tug. By this time a dozen steamboats belonging to the flotilla
arrived upon the scene.
Presently the drag of the anchor made itself felt, for the bottom of
the sea had changed from sand to stiff mud. Still ignorant of the
nature of the obstruction, the German lieutenant-commander was under
the erroneous impression that he had fouled the moorings of a mine.
He therefore reversed engines and attempted to back clear of the
entanglement.
The easing-off of the strain on the chain gave Tressidar warning.
Promptly he ordered "easy astern," at the same time megaphoning his
suspicions to the nearest steamboats.
Unprovided with explosive grapnels, the boats were unable to make an
end of the submarine by detonating a charge of gun-cotton against her
hull. The coup de grâce would have to be administered by a
destroyer, and up to the present no attempt had been made by the
boats to summon one to their assistance. Officers and men were
thoroughly enjoying their novel duck hunt, and were in no hurry to
finish the sport.
But when the submarine commenced to back astern the possibility of
her disengaging herself from the toils became apparent. Quickly two
picquet-boats dashed in opposite directions across her supposed
track, each craft towing a stout grass-line astern, to which were
attached lumps of metal in order to sink the otherwise buoyant fibre.
The operation was successful, for the rope, caught by the revolving
propellers, wound round the shafting like coils of steel, until the
electric motors were brought to a dead stop.
"That's done the trick," exclaimed the lieutenant gleefully. "We've
collared the tin of sardines and now we'll have to wait for the
tin-opener. What water have we?"
A cast of the lead gave eleven and a half fathoms with a bottom of
mud mingled with shells and coarse sand. The submarine, finding
herself disabled, had "sounded" and was resting on the bed of the
sea.
"Suppose we couldn't hike her clear and tow her alongside the
'Anzac?'" hazarded Stephens, one of the subs. "A strain of the old
ship's steam capstan would heave her to the surface in a brace of
shakes. Pity to rip up the strafed hooker when we have a chance of
collaring her intact, isn't it?"
"May as well try," replied the lieutenant, who was loth to destroy
the craft that had given him a "run for his money." "Tide's rising.
We'll lower a couple of bights of chain and see if we can shift her.
I don't suppose she has a deadweight of more than a couple of
tons--if that. Hulloa! The ball's opening."
The German batteries had hitherto deferred opening fire for fear of
damaging the submarine, which had left Zeebrugge and had made a
circuitous course through Dutch waters. Having allowed her ample time
to get clear of the danger zone, the Huns had begun to fire.
"Hang it all!" ejaculated Tressidar. "We'll have to send for the
destroyers after all to finish the job."
But there was yet a respite, for the "Anzac" and two of her consorts
were standing in and interposing themselves between the shore and the
boats. In a few minutes the action became general, the 14-in. guns
hurling their shells with terrific precision upon the hostile
batteries.
Slowly the tide rose, and with it the strain of the hawsers began to
take up. Deeper sunk the hulls of the steamboats, but the submarine
showed no signs of leaving her muddy bed.
Unconcernedly the boats' crews "stood by," though not without risk,
for, although the monitors successfully drew the enemy's fire,
ricochets from the German guns came perilously close.
Suddenly bubbles appeared on the surface alongside the "Anzac's"
picquet-boat's quarter, and with them a metal cylinder shot up from
beneath the water. To it was attached a light line and a canvas tally
on which was roughly scrawled the word "Communication."
"Steady, there," cautioned Tressidar, as one of the seamen prepared
to fish up the object with his boat-hook. "Pass the bight of the line
under it."
Ordering easy ahead, the sub. allowed the picquet-boat to travel as
far as the scope of chain permitted, at the same time taking a steady
strain with the bight of the rope until the cylinder broke away from
the line that led to the submarine. Nothing happened so far as an
explosion was concerned, for the sub. had his suspicions that there
might have been a ruse on the part of the trapped Huns.
The cylinder was roughly twelve inches in diameter and two feet in
height. It was one of a regular pattern supplied to German submarines
for sending communications to the surface in the event of the vessel
meeting with an accident that prevented her from rising. The
diameter, being exactly the same as that of the torpedo-tubes,
enabled the canisters to be discharged through them by means of
compressed air.
"What sort of a haul have you got there, Mr. Tressidar?" enquired the
lieutenant. "H'm, communication, eh? Suppose it's all right. There's
no detonating mechanism inside, I hope?"
"I'll see sir," replied the sub., and ordering his men to the other
end of the boat, so as to be out of harm's way in the event of an
explosion, he unscrewed a disc in one of the ends of the cylinder.
Within was a sheet of paper on which was written, "We surrender.
Spare our lives. We will ascend in ten minutes from now--6.15 a.m.,
mid-continental time. Max Falkenheim, Kapitan-leutnant."
"By Jove, sir, we've made a capture!" announced Tressidar, handing
the document to his superior officer. "It's signed by that fellow
Falkenheim, the man who tried to escape from Auldhaig."
"And was afterwards rescued by some of his precious compatriots when
they blew in the wall of his prison. I remember," added the
lieutenant grimly. "One of the foxiest rascals that ever sailed under
the Black Cross ensign. Yes, by smoke, dulce et decorum est to lay
that chap by the heels. Pity you cut that rope, though."
"Why, sir?" asked the sub.
"Because we cannot now reply to the strafed Huns. See, there's a
telephonic receiver inside the cylinder, and the wires are led inside
the rope. Writing that note was to make sure that we should know of
their willingness to surrender in case we didn't notice the
telephone. Confound that brute! That was a near one."
The lieutenant's remark was addressed to a huge shell that, having
already ricochetted once, struck the water within twenty yards of the
nearest steamboat, and rebounding again, finally disappeared in a
column of spray a mile away. The displacement of water caused by the
impinging of the projectile made the little flotilla rock violently,
while officers and men were drenched by the deluge of foam.
"Hurry up! Hurry up!" muttered the lieutenant impatiently, by way of
invoking the submerged "U" boat. "You've had a good ten minutes and
we want to make your acquaintance."
A reply came in the form of a slight disturbance of the water. The
submarine was "blowing" her water-ballast tanks.
Then slowly--so gradually that the picquet-boats had ample time to
back clear--the surrendered craft rose to the surface, as if dubious
of the fate that awaited her.
The conning-tower hatch was thrown open, and Kapitan Falkenheim
appeared, followed by his unter-leutnant. Still in doubt as to their
reception, they saluted their conquerors, who punctiliously returned
the compliment. At the same time the crew issued from the after-hatch
and formed up, holding their hands above their heads.
"Ve vos surrender--so," shouted Falkenheim.
"All right," replied the British lieutenant. "We accept your
surrender, provided you do no damage to your craft."
"Dot is so," agreed the kapitan. "Nodings done is to der
unterseeboot."
Skilfully two of the picquet-boats were manoeuvred and brought
alongside the prize and the German officers and crew were taken off.
The bridle of the moorings that had been the cause of the submarine's
misfortune was cast off--it had simply caught to the for'ard
horizontal rudders--and the vessel taken in tow.
A signal was made for a destroyer to take charge of the prize, since
the steamboats were too small for the task. Their share of the
business was over. The kudos was theirs; they were content to shift
the burden upon their comrades of the destroyer-flotilla.
Suddenly a bomb hurtled through the smoke-laden air and exploded with
a terrific detonation close to the leading picquet-boat. The frail
craft literally crumpled up and disappeared in a cloud of smoke,
leaving a sub-lieutenant and two badly wounded seamen struggling for
dear life.
Overhead was a German double-fuselaged biplane, intent upon the
destruction of the captured submarine so that she might not fall into
the hands of the British.
Another bomb dropped, without effect beyond sending a fragment of
metal through the funnel of the "Anzac's" steamboat. Regardless of
the danger, other picquet-boats dashed up to rescue the survivors of
the sunken craft, while from the approaching destroyer a steady
stream of shells was directed upon the hostile battleplane.
Unconcernedly the German aviators hovered overhead, circling and
dropping their lethal missiles with a set purpose, until a bomb
alighted fairly upon the fore-part of the submarine.
When the cloud of smoke had drifted away, the chagrined British
sailors saw their prize had been snatched from their grasp. She was
sinking.
Slowly her bows dipped. Her stern rose until the tips of her twin
propellers were visible, then with the violent inrush of water she
disappeared from sight and narrowly missed taking with her the
"Anzac's" picquet-boat that was engaged in towing her.
But retribution was at hand. Heading swiftly towards the German
aircraft was a British seaplane. So intent were the Hun airmen upon
their task of scattering the little flotilla that they failed to
notice the danger until the seaplane opened fire with her automatic
gun.
Vainly the German aviators attempted to circle and bring their fixed
gun to bear upon their attackers. The British seaplane had the
equivalent to the weather-gauge of the old days of sailing--the
advantage of superior altitude.
Struck in a vital part, the enemy battleplane appeared to crumple up
in mid-air. Falling like a stone, the machine struck the water a
tangled mass of struts and canvas. Quickly a picquet-boat hurried to
the aid of the foe, but she was too late.
The wreckage, upside-down, was kept from sinking by the only
undamaged float. Strapped to their seats, the Hun pilot and observer,
even if they had escaped the hail of bullets, were drowned like rats
in a trap.
"It's not been so dusty," commented the lieutenant in charge of the
steamboat flotilla as he gave the signal for the various boats to
return to their respective ships. "Sorry we didn't get that 'U' boat
into port. Still, there's one the less."