THE SCUTTLING
"I SAY, old bean!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "Can you give me a good
tip?"
"For what?" inquired Meredith cautiously.
"It's like this," explained the R.A.F. officer. "I've three days'
leave. Why I've been granted it is a mystery, as one doesn't get much
in the R.A.F. without asking for it. However, that is a digression.
The bald facts of the case are I have three days' leave, which means
that I have to report for duty on Monday. Now it's perfectly obvious
that I can't get home and back in the time; I haven't the cheek to
wire for an extension, so what can I do to spend the time?"
"You miserable blighter!" exclaimed Kenneth laughing, "Do you mean to
tell me you didn't know we were running round to Aberdeen?"
"Guilty, m'lud," confessed Cumberleigh. "I may as well admit that I
was fishing for an invite. More'n that, I've packed my kit-bag in
anticipation of a sea-trip for the benefit of my health."
It was now summer. In the warm long-drawn days the Orkneys were at
their best. Forgotten almost were those strenuous periods of patrol
amidst the fierce winter gales and snowstorms--or at least time
mellowed the reminiscences, partly obliterating the dark phases and
keeping alive the pleasing episodes of the Long, Long Trick.
M.L. 1497 had been ordered to convey a small bulk of naval stores to
Aberdeen--articles urgently required but not sufficient to warrant
the use of a naval storeship. The run was a short one--a little over
100 miles. It would give the crew a few hours ashore to see the
sights of The Granite City.
"Wakefield's not coming along, I suppose?" asked Cumberleigh.
"No; he's on Inner Patrol," replied Kenneth. "I'm short-handed, too;
had to land my Sub yesterday. Got mumps or some other cheerful
thing--no, don't look alarmed. It was my mistake. Toothache. I knew
it was something with a swollen face about it. In a way it's a
blessing in disguise. There's a bunk waiting for you."
Almost without incident, the run to Aberdeen was accomplished in
record time. The motors ran without a hitch, and carrying a
favourable tide most of the way M.L. 1497 averaged 19 knots "over the
ground."
"Enough for to-day," remarked Meredith as the M.L. was safely
berthed, and he was changing into shore-kit in the ward-room. "I'll
give general leave till eleven to-night. One man will have to remain
on board. Now, then, Cumberleigh, my dear old thing----"
"Gentleman to see you, sir," called out one of the men.
"Who the----" began Meredith wonderingly. He had no acquaintances in
Aberdeen as far as he knew. But the next instant he gave an
exclamation of pleasurable surprise as a well-known voice exclaimed:
"Eh, laddie, I thought 'twas you I saw coming in past the North
Pier."
"Jock McIntosh, by the powers!" ejaculated Meredith. "Come on down.
By Jove! This is great--absolutely."
It was Jock, but not the Jock of yore. McIntosh was rigged out in
civilian clothes of distinctly post-war quality. He had lost the
alertness that he had acquired, despite his heavy build, during his
service afloat. He descended the steep ladder awkwardly, his heavy
boots clattering and slipping on the brass treads of the steps.
"Eh, lad," he remarked, "but you were about right. I'm downright
sorry I'm out of it. Life ashore is a bit dour, and when I saw you
bringing the old packet into harbour I'd have given my last shilling
to have been in sea-rig again."
"Cheer up," said Meredith. "We'll all be in the same boat before very
long. Demobbing is going strong just at present. What are you doing
in Aberdeen?"
"Buying a boat," replied Jock simply.
"What? Buying a boat?" exclaimed Kenneth. "What sort of boat? I
thought you'd had enough of the sea."
"A good many of us thought that," said McIntosh soberly. "I was
mistaken. It's the call of the sea, d'ye ken? So half a dozen of us,
all out of the Motor-Boat crush, have pooled and bought a drifter.
There's money in it... and we'll be afloat. You must come along, see
the old boat, and be introduced to the lads."
"Glad to," replied Meredith. "So you're going fishing?"
Jock shook his head.
"No; coastal trade," he replied. "Running up along to Peterhead,
Frazerburgh, Banff and perhaps Wick. The autumn we'll go south. Some
of the fellows were in the Dover Patrol and at Scilly. There's
freight always to be picked up."
"That chap's on a sound scheme," remarked Cumberleigh, when McIntosh
had gone ashore.
"Yes; and he was always talking of what he was going to do on the
beach when the War was over," said Kenneth. "There were dozens of
M.L. fellows who ran yachts before the war. Now there's a chance--a
good chance--to combine business with pleasure and go in for the
coasting trade. It's worth thinking over."
Early next morning M.L. 1497 discharged her small but valuable
consignment of Government stores, filled up with petrol, and awaited
instructions. Somewhat to Meredith's disappointment, came telegraphic
orders:--
"Proceed at once."
"It means a night trip," observed Meredith. "Fortunately it's calm
and the nights are short. It will rather upset your leave, old man,
to find yourself back at Scapa to-morrow."
"Anything wrong, I wonder?" asked Cumberleigh.
"Don't suppose so," replied Kenneth. "Merely a brain wave on the part
of some shore-loafing minion in the S.N.O.'s office. However, 'a
norder's a norder; an' it's a nard life,' as I once overheard a
matloe remark."
Apparently M.L. 1497 was in no hurry to return to her base, for
shortly after midnight her engines "konked." For some hours she
wallowed in the swell a few miles from the shores of Caithness, while
sweating mechanics struggled with sooted plugs and choked jets.
It was broad daylight before the trouble was overcome, and the M.L.
was able to resume her interrupted return run.
"I wonder what von Preussen is doing," remarked Cumberleigh, as the
rocky shores of the Orkneys appeared above the horizon. "Somehow I've
got the idea that he was up to some mischief when we spotted him
aboard the _Hohenhoorn_."
"Shouldn't be surprised," agreed Meredith. "I reported the incident,
but nothing seems to have been done. Unfortunately our people are
hampered by the Allied Congress; otherwise the Huns wouldn't be on
board now--nearly six months after the Armistice."
A quarter of an hour later Kenneth raised his binoculars.
"Seems much the same old show," he observed. "Fritz is still
occupying the best berths in Scapa Flow. Wonder why we were recalled
so hurriedly? Hello! There's old Wakefield coming out to meet us."
M.L. 1499 approached rapidly, then turning sixteen points to port,
drew within hailing distance.
"What's wrong?" shouted Meredith through a megaphone.
"Nothing, as far as I know," replied Wakefield. "Why are you back so
soon?"
"Ask me another," rejoined Kenneth. "I was afraid we had orders to
pack up."
"I've heard nothing more about demobilisation," said Wakefield. "So
it's not that."
"Who said there was nothing wrong?" inquired Cumberleigh, pointing
with outstretched arm towards the German vessels. "They've hoisted
their ensigns."
"So they have, by Jove!" exclaimed Meredith. "What does it mean?
Surely the Peace Conference blokes haven't restored the ships to
Germany? Wakefield, look! Germans have hoisted their colours."
Somewhere in the grey distance came the report of a gun, followed by
another. A British destroyer was taking drastic measures to deal with
the flagrant breach of Beatty's peremptory order.
"Whack her up!" ordered Meredith through the voice-tube. "All out."
The motor mechanics responded smartly. M.L. 1497 simply tore through
the water.
"They're sinking!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "Every one of them. The
dirty dogs: they're scuttling the fleet!"
There was no doubt about it. Already seven destroyers were awash. The
larger vessels were heeling with distinct rapidity. The giant
_Hindenburg_ was practically on her beam ends, while her meagre crew,
prepared for the consequences of the dastardly act, had already taken
to the boats and were watching the mammoth vessel in her
death-throes.
Close by, the _Seidlitz, Derfflinger_ and other Hun battle-cruisers
were going down with flying colours, not gloriously in the heat of
battle but ignominiously scuttled by their crews. Further on the
_Bayern_, the most powerful battleship of the German navy, was
capsizing. With a loud crash her heavy guns in superimposed turrets
burst from their armoured bases. For a while the vessel's list was
checked, until, under the action of the terrific inrush of water
through her open sea-cocks, she lay completely over on her beam ends.
Then, still heeling, her barnacle-covered bottom and bilge-keel
showed above a smother of foam, like the back of an enormous whale.
The next instant she had disappeared.
Already the crews of the M.L.'s 1497 and 1499 were at action
stations. On his part Kenneth Meredith realised that he could do
nothing to save the larger ships. There might be a chance of
preventing the foundering of some of the Hun destroyers, and he meant
to try.
Passing astern of the line of sinking battle-cruisers, Kenneth made
straight for a large destroyer of the V-class that for some unknown
reason was settling down slower than her consorts.
His course lay close to three or four boats manned by German officers
and bluejackets, who viewed the rapidly-moving M.L.'s with
considerable apprehension. Possibly they expected a few shells from
the patrol boats' quick-firers. Up went their hands above their
heads, and the now monotonous cry of "Kamerad!" rose from the craven
crews.
Paying no heed to the boats, although the "wash" from the M.L. gave
the finishing touch to the "wind up" stunt, Kenneth brought his
command alongside the destroyer. Her crew were still on board, but
were preparing to take to the boats.
With levelled revolver Kenneth climbed over the destroyer's rail and
covered the unter-leutnant in charge.
"Have those sea-cocks closed instantly!" he ordered.
For a moment the Hun hesitated, but the stern face and set jaw of the
Englishman gave him warning that delay meant trouble. He turned and
gave a hurried order to some of the men. They hurried below, while to
make sure that they would reclose the valves Kenneth ordered the
hatches to be secured until the work was properly done.
Meanwhile two of the M.L.'s crew were at work for'ard, knocking out
the Senhouse slip, and thus freeing the vessel from her mooring.
"All clear, sir!" shouted one of the hands.
Returning to the M.L., Meredith ordered "Easy ahead, starboard
engine."
Still lashed alongside, No. 1497 had a stiff task to tow the partly
flooded Hun, but gradually the two vessels gathered way. The nearest
shoal water was a bare two cables' length away, and great was
Meredith's delight when he heard the destroyer's forefoot grate on
the hard bottom.
"She'll do: tide's falling," he observed. "Get those Huns out of it,
Cumberleigh. Order them to embark in their own boat and row ashore.
We may be in time to save another.... By Jove! I'll collar that
ensign as a souvenir."
Although Cumberleigh boosted the Huns pretty severely, there was
considerable delay before M.L. 1497 could cast off. It was evident
that she had reached her limit in the salvage line. The Hun vessels
were nearly all gone. A few had been beached through the prompt
action of the British patrol and harbour service vessels. By the time
Meredith gave the order for "Easy astern," the vast anchorage,
crowded a brief half-hour previously, was now bare save for small
craft and boats laden with Germans, who, now that their act of
melodramatic bravado was accomplished, were wondering what the result
of their gross breach of faith would entail.
There was flotsam everywhere. The water was covered with oil and
wreckage, and the M.L.'s and other craft had to exercise great
caution lest their propellers should foul the drifting planks and
spars as they cruised round, shepherding the Huns to a place of safe
custody.
"By Jove! Look!" exclaimed Kenneth, calling Cumberleigh's attention
to a large circular mass of foliage.
"Looks like a wreath," observed the R.A.F. officer.
"Exactly," agreed Meredith. "There were dozens of them on board the
_Hohenhoorn_. The blighters said they were for an officer's
funeral--a ship's funeral, if you like. And there's another one."
There were, in fact, scores, each wreath entwined with red, white and
black ribbons and bearing the name of the ship on which it had been
placed when the act of scuttling was performed--a circumstance which
tends to prove that the violation of the Armistice terms had been
connived at by the existing German government.
"Who's that semaphoring?" asked Cumberleigh, indicating a steam
pinnace about three hundred yards away, in the stern-sheets of which
a bluejacket was waving a pair of hand-flags.
Kenneth levelled his glasses. Simultaneously one of the M.L.'s crew
prepared to receive the message.
"It's Geordie Morpeth," exclaimed Meredith. "His old packet's broken
down and he's getting his signalman to ask us for a tow."
"Will--you--come--alongside?" read out the receiving signalman. "They
don't give a reason, sir," he added; "but it looks as if they've
fouled some wreckage."
Very cautiously M.L. 1497 approached the apparently disabled steam
pinnace.
"Ahoy, there!" shouted Kenneth. "What's wrong?"
Morpeth swung his arm in the direction astern.
"We've got some one in tow," he replied. "I knew Captain Cumberleigh
was aboard you, and he might be interested."
Sitting on the engine-room casing were half a dozen Germans,
including an unter-leutnant, all dripping wet and looking thoroughly
dejected.
"Just lugged 'em out of the ditch," remarked Morpeth, stating what
was an obvious fact. "But that's not what I hailed you for. Just look
aft."
What had appeared to be at first sight a tangle of debris caught in
the steam pinnace's propeller was one of the German funeral wreaths.
In the centre was the body of a man, his feet secured to the
stern-sheets by means of a running bowline.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "It's von Preussen."
"And as dead as a door-nail," added Morpeth. "I had an account to
settle with him, too; but it's wiped out now. No; it wasn't my
doings. One of their boats got swamped, so I went to the rescue.
There was von Preussen hanging on to a life-buoy and looking as
pleased as a dog with two tails--gloating over his share in the dirty
work, I suppose. We weren't more than twenty yards off when there was
an explosion--compressed air, you know. Up came a jagged plank and
heaved von Preussen almost clear of the water. Killed him in half a
shake. And then one of these wreaths came up and floated alongside of
him just as we were slipping a bowline round his feet."
"Poor devil!" ejaculated Cumberleigh. "It's strange that he met his
fate that way. Sort of Nemesis."
"Perhaps it was as well," added Meredith. "He would have been in a
pretty hole had he got ashore."
"Rather," agreed Morpeth. "Every Fritz, officer and man, is being
shoved under arrest. Old von Reuter, the Admiral, is collared too.
There's one thing: the Allies can't squabble over the disposal of the
Hun Fleet now; so Fritz has unwittingly done us a good turn. Well,
cheerio. I'll run my little lot of Huns across to the beach.
Cheerful-looking cargo, eh?"
Going dead slow, the steam pinnace headed towards the pier, the
corpse of the spy towing astern; while M.L. 1497 "carried on,"
patrolling the land-locked waters upon which but a brief hour ago
floated the fleet by which the German Emperor had hoped, and hoped in
vain, to obtain the domination of the world.