PICKED UP
"PULL starboard; back port!... Give way together!" ordered
Lieutenant-Commander Wakefield, as the blunt bows of the U-boat
appeared through the dispersing fog-bank.
The men obeyed with a will. Almost in its own length the "tin" dinghy
spun round and darted towards the pall of misty vapour. It was a
dog's chance, and the men realised it, but they were not going to
throw up the sponge without a determined effort to escape.
Alas for the bold resolve! With a rapidity that was little short of
miraculous for a vessel of her type, the U-boat turned to starboard.
Then, with her engines reversed, she brought up dead with her bows
within an oar's length of the M.L.'s dinghy.
Right for'ard were half a dozen men clad in oilskins. One of them
brandished a long boat-hook.
"Game's up, Fritz," shouted an unmistakable Devonshire voice. "Be yu
comin' quiet-like?"
For a moment the men sat dumfounded. Then Wakefield laughed
mirthlessly.
"She's one of our new submarines!" he exclaimed. "And we've been
engaging her by mistake. Good heavens, what a proper lash up! Make
fast there!"
The bowman threw a coil of rope, and as the boat swung alongside the
giant submarine Wakefield leapt on board, followed by Meredith.
The surprise of M.L. 1071's officers was more than equalled by the
consternation of the skipper of the submarine, who burst out into a
torrent of eager questions.
"Then I've sunk you, by Jove!" exclaimed the latter. "How was I to
know? Why the deuce didn't you make your private signal? You fired
first, you know."
"Admitted," replied Wakefield. "We spotted what we took to be a
U-boat and, having had official information that none of our
submarines was within eighty miles of us, we naturally let rip the
moment we sighted you."
He gave a quick glance at the deck and superstructure.
"Any damage?" he asked.
The other smiled grimly.
"Not to us... 'Fraid I cannot congratulate you on the excellence of
your gunnery. Every shell went overhead handsomely."
The gun-layer of M.L. 1071's six-pounder, overhearing the remark,
groaned at the slight upon his marksmanship.
"Sorry I can't return the compliment," observed Wakefield. "You
caught us a beauty--only it failed to explode or we wouldn't be here.
As it is, I've lost my command and sustained a couple of casualties.
Rough luck!"
"Rough luck indeed!" rejoined the other sympathetically. "Come below
and have a glass of grog. I'll have your men attended to. We must cut
your boat adrift, I'm afraid."
Meredith followed the two lieutenant-commanders to the little
ward-room, which, though small, was not chock-a-block with the usual
appendages to a submarine's officers' quarters.
The skipper of the boat threw off his oilskin, revealing a burly
figure rigged out in the uniform of a lieutenant-commander R.N.R. In
height he was over six feet, with massive neck and bull-dog features.
His face was tanned a deep red that contrasted vividly with his
light-blue eyes and white, even teeth. From the outer corner of his
left eye to within an inch of the extremity of his jaw-bone ran a
greyish scar that tended to accentuate the grim tenacity of
expression.
"Sit you down," he said, in unmistakably Northumbrian accents. "A
stiff peg will pull you fellows together, although the sun's not over
the fore-yard. But let that slide. What's your name?"
Wakefield gave the required information and introduced Meredith to
the burly R.N.R. skipper.
"Morpeth's my tally," announced the latter, in answer to Wakefield's
inquiry: "Geordie Morpeth, or 'Tough Geordie,' as they used to call
me when I was first mate in the Foul Anchor Line--them that runs
cattle boats to Monte Video, you might remember."
"Tough work, eh?" inquired Wakefield.
"You're about right," agreed Morpeth. "Handling a crew of Dagoes and
such-like takes a bit of doing. My present job is an easy one in
comparison."
"What made you go in for the Submarine Service?" asked Meredith.
The bull-necked R.N.R. officer leant back in his chair and laughed
uproariously.
"Got you cold, by Jove!" he ejaculated. "Submarine Service--a
precious lot I know about it, 'cept that I know a U-boat when I spot
her. Leastways, I thought I did until I mistook your hooker for
Fritz: but you fired on me first, my man. Ha! ha! ha! Submarine
indeed!"
"Well, isn't this one?" inquired Wakefield.
"She won't submerge unless a Hun tinfish gets her," replied Morpeth
oracularly. "And that ain't likely, since Fritz can't distinguish
between a real U-boat and this old hooker. We're just a decoy."
"Sort of Q-boat?" asked Meredith.
"You've about hit it, old thing," replied the R.N.R. man. "We're just
off to the Heligoland Bight to see if that fish will bite. Excuse my
joke. Hope you're not in a hurry, 'cause you'll have to be shipmates
along with us for the next fortnight."
"Any old job'll suit me," said Wakefield. "The only thing that
troubles me is how we are to get in touch with the S.N.O., Auldhaig.
We'll be posted as missing and all that sort of thing."
"Can't help you there," declared Morpeth. "We don't get in touch with
patrolling craft during this stunt for a very good reason. They'd
fire on us at sight long before we could establish our identity."
"Why not wireless?" suggested Meredith.
"We've got a wireless rigged up, but we don't use it except in cases
of actual danger," explained Morpeth. "Once we start sending out
messages all our chances go by the board. Fritz might intercept them,
and there you are. We'll receive as many as they care to send, and a
fine old collection we've got. You should see our wireless decoder
with his German signal code-book. That's the way to get a true
insight into the U-boat campaign. No, gentlemen, it can't be did; but
I'll do my level best to make you comfortable. There's a spare bunk
in my cabin, Mr. Wakefield, and Mr. Meredith can have a hammock slung
in the ward-room. As for grub, there's enough and to spare for all
hands."
"Good enough!" exclaimed Wakefield heartily. "Only I hope you've got
a job for us?"
"You trust me for that," rejoined the R.N.R. officer grimly.
He glanced at the clock on the after-bulkhead.
"Seven bells," he remarked. "We've spent a solid hour kagging away
when we ought to be turned in. It'll be daybreak in another hour.
Tired?"
Wakefield and Meredith replied in the negative. The excitement of the
unfortunate engagement was still making itself felt, rendering the
desire for sleep impossible.
"Take my tip and turn in," suggested Morpeth. "I'll get the steward
to bring some grub first, and then you'll be all right for the next
few hours. You'll excuse me, but I must see how things are going on
deck. I've got a ripping officer of the watch, but at the same time
the responsibility is mine."
Picking up his cap, the gold lace and badge of which was green with
exposure to the salt spray, Lieutenant-Commander Morpeth left his
involuntary guests and went on deck.
"Tough customer," remarked Wakefield. "His nickname is well bestowed.
I shouldn't care to fall foul of him."
"A good man for the job, I should imagine," said Meredith, as he
proffered his cigarette-case to his superior officer. "Where the Navy
would be without the R.N.R. goodness only knows. Those fellows could
carry on straight away, but we had to be trained--after a fashion. I
remember the first time I tried to bring an M.L. alongside a jetty.
There wasn't much tide and hardly any wind, but it took five attempts
before I did the trick."
"You were not the only one," said Wakefield reminiscently. "First
time I was running at fifteen knots I had the wind up properly. Knew
every article on the Rule of Road and all that sort of thing by
heart, but the first lumbering old tramp I met drove the whole
blessed lot out of my head. Scraped her quarter by less'n a yard, an'
it might have been worse."
Kenneth puffed thoughtfully at his pipe.
"Rummy war this," he observed. "When you take things into
consideration----"
"Fog's cleared away, and it's a bright moonlight night," announced
Morpeth, thrusting his head, surmounted by the salt-stained cap and
tarnished badge, through the doorway. "Care to come up and have a
look round?"
"Right-o, old thing," replied Wakefield.
Preceded by their host, the M.L. officers ascended the almost
vertical steel ladder and gained the deck.
"Mind our tram-lines," cautioned Morpeth, "That's right. Now, what do
you think of the old hooker?"