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A Watch-dog of the North Sea: A Naval Story of the Great War

by Percy F. Westerman · English · Gutenberg #49267 · 492,038 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: A Watch-dog of the North Sea: A Naval Story of the Great War

Author: Percy F. Westerman


        
Release date: June 24, 2015 [eBook #49267]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WATCH-DOG OF THE NORTH SEA: A NAVAL STORY OF THE GREAT WAR ***

[Illustration: cover art]




A WATCH-DOG OF THE
NORTH SEA




[Illustration: "SHE REELED HEAVILY WITH THE EFFECT OF A MORTAL BLOW"]




A WATCH-DOG OF
THE NORTH SEA


A NAVAL STORY OF
THE GREAT WAR




BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN

AUTHOR OF "A SUB. OF THE R.N.R."
"THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR"
ETC.




S.W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1




MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN
First published December 1916




           CONTENTS

   CHAPTER
        I. H.M.S. "POMPEY"
       II. THE RESULT OF THE LEADING STOKER'S CURIOSITY
      III. GREENWOOD SENIOR'S DISCOVERY
       IV. THE SECRET PETROL-DEPÔT
        V. EXPLANATIONS
       VI. AN EXCELLENT NIGHT'S WORK
      VII. THE DAY FOLLOWING
     VIII. SPY AND SUPER-SPY
       IX. AN ADVENTURE ON THE HILLS
        X. THE FOILED RAID
       XI. ONE ZEPPELIN THE LESS
      XII. AN OCEAN DUEL
     XIII. ADRIFT
      XIV. A BREACH OF NEUTRALITY
       XV. A PRISONER OF WAR
      XVI. THE FIRST DAY OF CAPTIVITY
     XVII. A DASH FOR LIBERTY
    XVIII. THE DERELICT OBSERVATION BALLOON
      XIX. THE DESERTED HOUSE
       XX. TRESSIDAR SOLVES A MYSTERY
      XXI. CHECKMATE
     XXII. THE SHELL-BATTERED HOSPITAL
    XXIII. AT AULDHAIG ONCE MORE
     XXIV. A FIGHT TO A FINISH
      XXV. IN THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH
     XXVI. THE HOME-COMING OF THE S.S. "MEROPE"
    XXVII. A DAY ON DARTMOOR
   XXVIII. --AND A NIGHT
     XXIX. WHEN THE TRAWLERS SHOWED FIGHT
      XXX. A NOVEL DUCK HUNT
     XXXI. MONITORS IN ACTION
    XXXII. THE "ANZAC'S" DAY
   XXXIII. A SPLINTER OF SHELL
    XXXIV. EXIT OBERFURST
     XXXV. TRESSIDAR'S REWARD




  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
       IN COLOUR


                                                      Frontispiece
  "SHE REELED HEAVILY WITH THE EFFECT OF A
    MORTAL BLOW"

  "A MAELSTROM OF FOAM HID THE SPOT WHERE THE
    PERISCOPE HAD BEEN VISIBLE".

  "THEY THREW UP THEIR ARMS AND YELLED FOR QUARTER"

  WITH THE QUICK-FIRERS TRAINED UPON THE
    BULKY TARGET, NO. 445 APPROACHED WITHIN
    HAILING DISTANCE

  AN OCEAN DUEL

  "'IN WITH YOU, OLD MAN!' HE EXCLAIMED"

  A BATTLE-CRUISER SQUADRON

  "ON THE DECK WAS A GERMAN UNTER-LEUTNANT,
    BOUND HAND AND FOOT"




A WATCH-DOG OF THE
NORTH SEA




CHAPTER I

H.M.S. "POMPEY"


A BUGLE-CALL rang out shrill and clear in the wintry air.

"Thank goodness--at last," murmured Eric Greenwood. "That's an end to
'Action Stations' for the time being. Let me see. Tomorrow coal ship,
next day make up the money. Payment on Friday, and ten to one
there'll be half a gale of wind--and paper money is a strafed
nuisance."

Thus musing, Assistant Paymaster Greenwood, R.N.R., completed his
preparations for vacating the fore-top of H.M.S. "Pompey," where he
had been acting as assistant to the lieutenant in charge of the
fire-control arrangements.

The fore-top, a caged-in structure measuring roughly eight feet by
eight, was situated ninety feet above the upper deck. In long-range
actions it took the place of the conning-tower as "the brains of the
ship," for in that limited aerial perch seven officers and men, all
working with a common set purpose, were able to direct salvoes of
death-dealing missiles with uncanny accuracy to a target invisible to
the guns' crews at their stations behind six inches of Krupp steel.

"Carry on, old man," said Vickers, the lieutenant, indicating a small
trap-hatch in the floor of the top. "Be careful; there's ice about."

Greenwood had already made up his mind to be careful. A man who, up
to within fifteen months ago, had led an eminently sedate existence
as a bank clerk does not take to work aloft with the same agility and
confidence inspired by years of training at Osborne and Dartmouth.

At the outbreak of war Eric Greenwood was a ledger clerk at a bank in
a quiet Devonshire country town. The notion of serving under the
White Ensign had never occurred to him, even in his wildest dreams,
until the Admiralty called for additional accountant officers for the
Royal Naval Reserve. Eric promptly sent in his application. It was
curtly acknowledged; and then followed weeks of tedious, sickening
suspense, until, when hope seemed dead, the bank clerk received an
envelope marked "O.H.M.S.," the contents of which transformed him
into an acting assistant paymaster, R.N.R.

After a short term at the Naval Barracks at Devonport, Greenwood was
sent to a small base on the east coast of Scotland. It seemed as if
he were fated to remain ashore until the termination of the war,
when, to his unbounded satisfaction, he was appointed to H.M.S.
"Pompey."

The "Pompey" was an armoured cruiser of 14,000 tons, armed with two
9.2-in. and fourteen 6-in. guns, in addition to several weapons of
lighter calibre. Although by no means a modern vessel, she was
generally considered to be a "tough nut" and able to give a good
account of herself on The Day--that long-expected and long-deferred
event--when the Germans finally made up their minds to decide by
ordeal of battle whether they could attempt to wrench the trident of
sea-power from Britannia's grasp.

Lieutenant Vickers's caution was necessary, for as the A.P. lowered
himself through the narrow opening, his feet came in contact with the
ratlines of the wire-shrouds. They were slippery with ice, for it had
been drizzling, as it almost always did in the North Sea when it was
not blowing a gale, and the moisture settling on the rigging had
frozen hard.

The ship was rolling considerably. At one moment the starboard
shrouds were almost perpendicular, at another they inclined at such
an angle that Greenwood was almost lying on his face at full length
upon a gigantic wire net. Clouds of eddying, pungent smoke enveloped
him, for the vessel had a following wind. The keen blast seemed to
cut him like a knife in spite of his bulky, additional clothing.

The young officer descended rapidly. He was anxious to gain the deck
for two reasons. He wanted to warm himself by the wardroom fire; he
was also aware that a destroyer had a few hours previously sent on
board a batch of mails--the first for nearly a fortnight. After
thirteen days of patrol work without being in touch with land, the
prospect of receiving letters from home was one that outweighed all
others, unless, perhaps--harrowing thought!--the mail-bag was a blank
so far as Eric was concerned.

"Hello, old bird! A trifle nippy up in your little perch!" exclaimed
a voice as Greenwood stepped over the threshold of the wardroom door.

The speaker was a tall, broad-shouldered sub-lieutenant, Ronald
Tressidar by name. Between these two there existed a friendship that
was almost of lifelong duration, for their respective homes were in
the same Devonshire town. Of recent years they had seen little of
each other. Their careers were set upon totally different lines till
by a pure coincidence they found themselves appointed to H.M.S.
"Pompey."

"Beastly cold," agreed Greenwood as he made his way to the
letter-rack. Thanks be! There was a goodly sheaf of envelopes bearing
his name. Eagerly the A.P. possessed himself of his correspondence
and sought a chair in the sadly depleted wardroom, for upon the
outbreak of hostilities the cosy atmosphere of the place had given
way to a state of almost Spartan simplicity.

Silence reigned. The rest of the officers off duty were literally
devouring their greetings from home or else were burying their heads
between the pages of newspapers that were at least three days old.

In the warm glow, with his mind fully occupied with thoughts of home
and distant friends, Greenwood forgot completely the rigorous period
of "Action Stations" in the fore-top. But all things come to an end.
Reluctantly the A.P. folded his letters and placed them in his
pocket. As he did so he caught Tressidar's eye.

"Anything startling?" asked the sub., taking a vacant place on the
lounge within a couple of feet of Greenwood's chair.

"Heaps," replied the A.P. "For one thing, an aeroplane came down on
the pater's greenhouse. No one hurt. I can imagine the governor
cutting up rough about it. He never could see the humorous side of
anything. The mater is still knitting for the troops. I pity the poor
fellows who get hold of any of the gear she turns out. Once upon a
time in the dire days of my youth she knitted me a pair of socks. I
didn't forget to chip her about them, too."

"She makes awfully decent cakes," remarked Tressidar reminiscently.

"She does," agreed the A.P. "And I remember the time when we brought
a hammer and a cold chisel to the tea-table and pretended to split
the almond paste asunder."

"Wasn't that the cake your sister Doris made?"

"Might have been, now you mention it," said Greenwood. "Talking of
Doris, she's now a probationer in the Reserve Nursing Service, and
she's appointed to Auldhaig."

"Is that so?" asked Tressidar with ill-feigned disinterestedness.
Nevertheless a deep flush overspread his tanned and weather-beaten
features. The sub. had always been extremely partial to the girl, but
Doris had been in the habit of keeping him severely in his place.
That was long before the war.

"Strange that she should be sent to our base," continued Eric. "We
may see something of her this Christmas, for I heard the fleet
paymaster say that we are likely to remain in harbour until early in
the New Year. He had the tip from the engineer-commander, who
submitted a list of defects as long as your arm."

As a matter of fact Ronald Tressidar knew more about Doris
Greenwood's plans than did her brother, for a letter from the girl
was reposing in his pocket. Generally outspoken and communicative in
most matters, Tressidar maintained a studious reticence in his chum's
presence whenever the subject of Greenwood's nineteen-year-old sister
was discussed.

"There's 'Action Stations' again!" exclaimed a lieutenant-commander
as a bugle blared on deck.

Instantly there was a rush on the part of the occupants of the
wardroom, to the accompaniment of the sharp cracks of the
quick-firers.

But before Tressidar gained the deck the danger--at least for the
time being--was over. The "Pompey" had ported helm, while at less
than twenty yards on the port beam the surface of the water was
marked by a pair of diverging lines that indicated the track of a
torpedo. By a smart display of helmsmanship the cruiser had escaped
destruction.

Already the skipper, who after an arduous night had turned in, was on
the bridge, with his feet in carpet slippers and the legs of his
pyjama suit showing below the bottom of his great-coat.

"See any signs of a periscope, Mr. Flanders?" he inquired of the
officer of the watch.

"No, sir," was the reply. "We opened fire at what turns out to be a
floating spar. The torpedo came from broad on our port beam before I
ordered the helm to be put hard over."

"Good!" exclaimed Captain Raxworthy. "We'll see if we can't nab her."

In ordinary circumstances a battleship or cruiser that has the good
luck to be missed by a hostile torpedo steams off at full speed from
the dangerous locality. Should destroyers or patrol boats be in the
vicinity, they are brought up at full speed to attempt to intercept
the submarine. But on this occasion the "Pompey" was alone in this
remote portion of the North Sea.

Contrary to precedent, Captain Raxworthy gave orders for the cruiser
to slow down and come to a standstill. At the same time volumes of
steam were allowed to hiss through the steam-pipes. All the six-inch
and light quick-firers were manned, ready at the first glimpse of the
hostile periscope to let fly such a weight of metal that the still
submerged hull of the submarine would stand no chance of resisting
the powerful shells.

The skipper of the "Pompey" was correct in his surmise. By slowing
down and letting off steam the cruiser behaved in much the same way
as if she had been actually torpedoed. The crew of the submarine
heard the sounds that apparently betokened the cruiser in her
death-agonies, and they could not resist the temptation to approach
the surface and survey their work through the periscope.

Four hundred yards away on the "Pompey's" starboard quarter a
pole-like object shot stealthily above the surface. It wanted the
trained eyes of a seaman to discern the ripple of foam that denoted
the position. Half a dozen or more of the "Pompey's" crew spotted the
expected target.


[Illustration: "A MAELSTROM OF FOAM HID THE SPOT WHERE THE PERISCOPE
HAD BEEN VISIBLE"]


The next instant twenty shells were shrieking through the air on
their way towards the doomed submarine. A perfect maelstrom of foam,
mingled with smoke and fragments of metal hid the spot where the
periscope had been visible.

The columns of foam subsided; the smoke drifted rapidly away in the
strong breeze; but ominous air-bubbles and an ever-increasing oily
patch that had the effect of quieting the crested waves denoted the
undisputed fact that yet another unterseeboot had shot her last
bolt. Eight hours later H.M.S. "Pompey" entered Auldhaig Firth.




CHAPTER II

THE RESULT OF THE LEADING STOKER'S CURIOSITY


"CLEAR lower deck. Hands fall in to coal ship."

The hoarse orders following the shrill trills of the bos'n's mates'
pipes rang from end to end of H.M.S. "Pompey". In the stokers' messes
men arrayed in motley garbs, for the most part consisting of old
canvas suits and coloured handkerchiefs tied tightly over their
foreheads, cleared out at the double to fall in on the quarter-deck.

Stoker James Jorkler, otherwise known as Rhino Jorkler, heard the
order not without emotion. He was a tall, sparely-built man of about
twenty-four years of age. At first sight he lacked physique, until
one noticed the ripple of supple muscles on his partly-bared arms.
His face was long and pointed, his eyes blue and deeply set
underneath a pair of thick and overhanging brows. His hair closely
cropped, tended to exaggerate the elongation of his head. His
features betrayed neither signs of good humour nor bad temper, but
rather an intelligence bordering upon cunning.

Three months previously the Royal Navy in a somewhat excusable haste
had accepted the services of James Jorkler. In war time, with a heavy
drain upon personnel the authorities had to be a trifle less
particular as to whom they enlisted for temporary service, and
amongst a batch of stoker recruits was Jorkler.

His answers upon enlistment evidently satisfied the petty officer
responsible for obtaining the necessary particulars. He was a
Canadian, he declared, born at Woodstock, New Brunswick. Former
occupation? Trimmer on board a White Star liner. His discharge papers
confirmed that statement. Next of kin? James Jorkler rubbed his chin
thoughtfully. He was on the point of replying that he did not possess
such a luxury, but upon consideration he gave the name of Jonas
Brocklebunk, his half-brother, of Leith.

Promptly the newly entered stoker was fired off to the R.N. Barracks
at Portsmouth. His cap-ribbon, like those of the rest of the men
borne on the books of that establishment, was embellished with the
words "H.M.S. Victory," although his acquaintance with the
time-honoured three-decker was limited to a distant glimpse of the
ship as she swung to her moorings in Portsmouth Harbour.

The rest of the stokers' mess could not come to a unanimous decision
concerning the tall recruit. His reserve puzzled them. Although he
made no attempt to "choke off" any questions, he kept much to
himself. He had no bosom pal. He showed no inclination to "split
brass rags" with any of his messmates, who, for some unexplained
reason, nicknamed him "Rhino."

When in due time he emerged from his course of preliminary training
and was drafted to H.M.S. "Pompey," the name stuck. He showed neither
appreciation nor resentment at it; it would have been useless to have
done either. So he accepted the sobriquet without any outward and
visible sign of interest in his messmates' solicitude for his need of
a nickname.

The mess-deck was all but cleared. Jorkler, usually amongst the first
to respond to orders, lingered until he was almost the last. Then,
kneeling over his ditty-box, he unlocked and threw back the lid,
delving amongst his belongings until he found what he required. "Wot
the 'Ades 'ave you got there, mate?" broke in a deep voice.

Jorkler turned with a start to find that a leading stoker was
standing behind him.

"Kind of souvenir," he replied weakly. "I guess is isn't of any interest
to you."

"Thought as it might be a plug o' 'bacca," continued the man. "Fact
is, I believes it is. 'Ow about it?"

"Reckon you're wrong," snapped Jorkler with returning confidence as
he slammed and locked the box.

"Too jolly fishy to my liking," rejoined the petty officer bluntly.
"You just wait till we've done coaling and I'll see for myself wot
your little game is. Strikes me it ain't all jonnick."

At this threat Jorkler started to his feet Fortunately for the
leading stoker there were others still in the mess, otherwise----

Jorkler set his jaw tightly and followed his inquisitor on deck. At
the first opportunity he would nip below and throw the object of
discussion overboard rather than let the leading stoker see it.

It was still night, with a cold, drizzling rain. Overhead arc-lamps
threw a pale gleam upon the serried lines of men--seamen, stokers,
and marines--on the quarter-deck. Everything liable to be affected by
coal-dust had been covered up. The huge 9.2-in. guns were swathed in
sacking; canvas covers encased the closed hatchways; whips for
hoisting inboard the sacks of coal, trollies for bearing them to the
nearest shoots, and a medley of other gear were in readiness, while
steam was already raised to operate the winches.

Skilfully a large "haulabout"--a hulk converted into a floating
coal-depôt--was manoeuvred alongside to starboard. To port a couple
of deeply laden lighters had already been made fast.

"Commence--carry on!" shouted the commander from the after-bridge.

Instantly it seemed as if pandemonium had broken loose. With a rush
the men set to work, for, if possible, H.M.S. "Pompey" was to break
her own record.

Winches clattered. Jets of steam drifted across the slippery deck.
Men shouted, knocked one another and each other, and worked till, in
spite of the chilliness of the morning, their faces, quickly blacked
with coal-dust, ran with perspiration.

Most of the junior officers joined in the actual labour. They found
that even handling sacks of coal was preferable to standing by and
shivering in the damp air. Clad in garments that outvied the bizarre
rig of the hands, sub-lieutenants and midshipmen were soon toiling
like Trojans.

With an almost reckless disregard for life and limb, sacks in batches
of half a dozen at the time were hoisted from the coaling craft and
dumped with a dull crash upon the cruiser's deck. Woe-betide the
luckless wight who failed to heed the warning cry of "Stand by,
there!" Like a pack of wolves the energetic men threw themselves upon
the bags and dragged them to the shoots, until the ship vibrated with
the clatter of coal descending to the bunkers.

At eight bells the word was passed to "Stand easy." A hasty
breakfast, consisting largely of coal-dust washed down with ship's
cocoa, was served out. The mess-decks were seething with human beings
resembling imps and satyrs in their grimy garbs and blackened faces.

Reluctantly Stoker Jorkler came to the conclusion that this was no
time to go to his ditty-box. Up to the present no opportunity had
occurred.

Again the ship's company resumed their labours. It was now daybreak.
The rain still fell, unheeded by the enthusiastic toilers. The only
people who minded the horrible climatic conditions were the band,
who, to keep up the spirits of the coaling party, were discussing
lively airs in which rag-time predominated.

Suddenly an engine-room artificer working the main derrick hoist gave
vent to an oath. "Here, one of you; bear a hand," he claimed. "I've
nipped my fingers."

Without a word Stoker Jorkler relieved the luckless man at the steam
winch. The E.R.A., with two fingers crushed to a pulp, hurried away
to the sick-bay; while Jorkler, whose knowledge of machinery and of
winches in particular was far from perfect, remained in control of
the hoisting gear. He, of the whole of the ship's company, didn't
exactly see why he should break his back over sacks of coal when he
could take on the comparatively light job of running the steam hoist.

"Avast heaving there on the main derrick!" shouted Sub-lieutenant
Tressidar, whose quick eye had noticed that something had gone wrong
aloft.

Jorkler obeyed promptly, shutting off steam and applying the
band-brake. A hundred pairs of eyes followed the direction of the
sub's outstretched hand. The wire hawser had "jumped" the sheave at
the end of the derrick that, projecting at an angle of forty-five
degrees, terminated fifty feet or more above the deck of the lighter.

"Up aloft, one of you," continued Tressidar, addressing the men whose
operations had perforce to be suspended.

But before the order could be carried out a man working in the
lighter gripped the wire rope, shouting for the winch to be put in
motion.

Dangling at the end of the rope as he rose swiftly into the air was a
burly figure rigged out in grimy canvas. With his teeth gleaming in
contrast to his black face and with a dash of colour imparted by the
scarlet handkerchief bound round his head, the volunteer for the
dangerous service cut a picturesque figure.

Stoker Jorkler gave an involuntary start. He recognised the man as
Leading Stoker Smith, the petty officer whose insistence had given
him such a bad turn. For a few seconds he thought--and thought hard.

The winch was still in motion. Higher and higher rose the petty
officer until his head was almost level with the huge metal block at
the end of the derrick.

Sub-lieutenant Tressidar raised his hand as a signal for the winch to
be stopped. Jorkler, his eyes fixed upon the man who had aroused his
enmity, made no effort to obey.

Leading Stoker Smith realised his peril. The wire rope which he was
grasping was being drawn completely through the sheave. He changed
his grip from the rope to the metal block, but the latter afforded no
adequate hold.

"Stop winding, you blithering idiot!" roared the commander, who from
the after-bridge was a witness of all that occurred.

Still Jorkler, ostentatiously fumbling with the mechanism, allowed
the winch to revolve. The end of the rope, including the eye-splice,
pulled through the sheave and fell with a thud upon the deck, the men
scattering right and left to avoid it in its descent.

In the midst of his peril Smith espied a short length of rope bent to
the end of the derrick. Again he shifted his hold, and, grasping the
rope's-end, strove to fling his legs athwart the steeply sloping
spar.

As he did so the rope parted like pack-thread. Groans escaped the
on-lookers as the doomed man, with arms and legs outstretched,
hurtled through the air. To the spectators he seemed to fall slowly,
but with a sickening crash his back came into contact with a beam in
the hold of the lighter.

A dozen of his shipmates rushed to his assistance, but the man was
beyond mortal aid.

"What the deuce have you been up to?" inquired the
engineer-lieutenant of the man at the winch.

"Sorry, sir," replied Jorkler with well-feigned grief. "The engine
got out of gear. Is he dead, sir?"

"As if he could be anything else!" retorted the irate officer. "Stand
aside, you blithering idiot! There'll be something for you to
answer." Five minutes later the interrupted work was resumed. The
lifeless victim had been removed; only sheer hard work could dispel
the gloom that had fallen on the ship's company.

Beneath the mask of regret Jorkler was smiling to himself; from which
it was evident that the mysterious "thing" that had excited his
victim's curiosity was something of great importance, since Jorkler
put its value above that of the life of a shipmate.

He was a firm believer in the adage, "Dead men tell no tales."

On the following day the county coroner and twelve good men and true
assembled, as the law directs, to inquire into the manner of Leading
Stoker Smith's death.

Although not knowing the difference between a derrick and a hand
spike, a whip or a tackle, they listened with an air of profound
wisdom to the engineer-lieutenant's technical explanations. They
heard Stoker Jorkler's account, although most of his sentences were
Dutch to the Highlanders who formed the jury. They accepted the
commander's statement that everything had been done to safeguard the
interests of the crew, and, satisfied, returned a verdict of
Accidental Death.

Leading Stoker Smith received the only salute to which a lower deck
man is entitled--three volleys over his grave; and the "thing" still
remained locked away in Rhino Jorkler's ditty-box.




CHAPTER III

GREENWOOD SENIOR'S DISCOVERY


EARLY on the following afternoon a train in connection with the night
express for King's Cross arrived at Auldhaig station from Edinburgh.

Amongst the passengers were Mr. Theodore Greenwood and his daughter
Doris. The former's object in making the long and tedious journey
from Devonshire to the bleak north-east coast of Scotland was
twofold. He wanted to hand his daughter over safely to the Naval
Hospital--and this in spite of the nineteen-year-old young lady's
assurances that she was quite capable of travelling alone. He also
thought that there might be a possibility of seeing Eric, since he
knew that the "Pompey's" base was at Auldhaig. Notwithstanding the
fact that the Assistant Paymaster R.N.R. had studiously adhered to
the regulations and had made no mention of where the ship was or what
she was doing, that information had been forthcoming.

Nor was Mr. Greenwood alone in the possession of the supposed secret,
for already several of the officers' wives and families had braved
the rigours of the wintry climate and had taken either furnished
houses or apartments in the town, which since the war had developed
out of all knowledge.

Having duly rid himself of his responsibility of handing Doris over
to the Head Nursing Sister, Mr. Greenwood set out on his quest for
H.M.S. "Pompey." Being naturally of a somewhat nervous disposition,
he hesitated to ask if the cruiser were in harbour, reflecting that
such a question might lead to his arrest as a spy. In his imagination
he fancied that everyone he met eyed him with suspicion.

At length he arrived at the shore of an arm of the intricate harbour.
Lying at moorings in the channel were half a dozen destroyers, but
there were no signs of any vessel approaching the armoured cruiser in
tonnage.

For some moments he stopped to read a notice-board on which was set
forth a list of things that the inhabitants of Auldhaig must or must
not do, the document being signed by the senior naval officer of the
port.

"There's nothing like taking every possible precaution," murmured Mr.
Greenwood approvingly. "One cannot be too particular in wartime."

Just then an old fisherman sauntered by. To him the stranger
addressed himself, inquiring if he knew whether the "Pompey" was in
harbour.

The old Scot shook his head.

"I dinna ken what you say, mon," he said.

Mr. Greenwood repeated his question.

"Oh--ay. Weel, tak yon path----"

He gave his questioner lengthy and bewildering directions which not
only left the Devon man completely tied up in knots, but with also a
reply to a misunderstood question, for the old man had come to the
conclusion that Mr. Greenwood was asking the way to Ponhaugh, a small
fishing-village about four miles from Auldhaig by the cliff-path.

Gaining the outskirts of the town, Mr. Greenwood commenced the long
climb to the edge of the rugged granite cliffs. From the moment he
struck the open country he did not see another person of whom he
might make further inquiries, but with complete reliance upon the old
fisherman's directions he walked briskly along the narrow, winding
path.

This he followed for nearly two miles without finding any signs of
his quest. Instead, he made the disconcerting discovery that the
track split into two parts, one branch trending inland, the other
descending steeply to the beach.

Mr. Greenwood took the latter route. Upon gaining the shore he found
that the track ended at the firm sands that fronted the base of the
rugged and indented line of cliffs.

Undaunted, he proceeded, expecting as he rounded each projection to
find the non-existent harbour in which he supposed H.M.S. "Pompey" to
be lying; but headland after headland was passed without any
satisfactory result.

Presently he arrived at a little bay. The distance between the two
enclosing promontories was less than a hundred yards apart. The shore
was of sand, but, unlike the rest of the beach, was interrupted by a
series of low ledges of rock. Between the water's edge and the base
of the cliffs the distance averaged twenty yards, although the waves
were almost washing the wall of granite at either end of the bay.

Suddenly Mr. Greenwood caught sight of a cylindrical object lying on
the shore. It was a little larger than a football and glistened in
the dull light. At every undulation it was flung upon the sand,
whence it receded in the undertow until thrown back by the succeeding
wave. Attached to it was a short length of frayed rope.

"That must be a mine," decided the alarmed man. "The authorities must
be informed."

Although half inclined to retrace his steps, he walked cautiously
past it, keeping as close to the cliffs as possible, until he gained
the furthermost headland. Here, to his dismay, he found the distant
aspect was a misleading one, for his progress was barred by a deep
gulley through which the tide was surging right up to the wall of
granite.

"I hope the tide is going down," thought Mr. Greenwood.

To satisfy his curiosity on that point he wasted ten precious
minutes, only to be ocularly assured that the tide was on the flood,
and that there was no possible chance of going further.

Again he passed the cylindrical object. By this time it was within a
few feet of one of the ledges of rock.

"When the waves throw it against those rocks it will explode,"
commented Mr. Greenwood. "How dangerous! Thank goodness I have yet
time to put a safe distance between me and that infernal machine."

Thirty seconds later he "brought up all standing." Where a short time
previously had been an expanse of hard sand, the waves were lapping
against the cliff. His retreat was cut off.

Even then, at the expense of wet feet, he might have negotiated the
passage, since the water was only about a foot or eighteen inches in
depth; but Mr. Greenwood hesitated and, figuratively, was lost.

Step by step he retreated before the rapidly rising tide, each step
taking him nearer again to the object of his apprehension. A belt of
seaweed rising six or seven feet from the sand marked the limit of
mean high tides on the face of the cliffs. It was evident that
nowhere within the arms of the bay was safety to be found except by
scaling the frowning precipice.

Discarding his umbrella--he wedged it tightly into a crevice in the
granite in the hope that he might be able to retrieve his trusty
friend--Mr. Greenwood sought for a suitable spot at which to commence
his hazardous feat. At the same time he kept an anxious watch upon
the derelict mine, which, having escaped being cast upon the ledge,
was now being carried close to the main wall of rock.

In his heated imagination he fancied himself fifty or a hundred feet
up the cliff with the powerful explosive going off and hurling him to
a terrible death upon the rocks beneath. He shouted, but only the
echoes of his own voice mocked his appeal for aid. In vain he looked
seaward, where the mists of evening were already creeping over the
wild North Sea. Not a sail was visible.

Mr. Greenwood was one of those men who, by disposition timid and
unassuming, possessed a great reserve of courage and determination
when called upon to extricate themselves from a tight corner. And,
having found himself in a tight corner, he acted accordingly.

After a brief search he discovered a rift in the cliff, which at this
point was not so sheer as it appeared at first sight. In any case the
footholds obtainable extended sufficiently high to enable him to
climb above high-water mark. Here he could wait until the tide fell
and take his chance with the mine.

The first six feet gave him great trouble, for the weed and kelp
afforded little foothold, but beyond this height he was able to
maintain a steady progress. Up and up he climbed, not daring to look
down, although the attraction of that deadly cylinder was almost
irresistible. He wanted to watch its progress towards the base of the
solid rock.

At length, fifty feet above the sea, he gained a fairly broad ledge,
the presence of which was invisible from the beach. Nor could it be
seen from the top of the cliffs, for higher up they projected well
beyond the ledge, the face being so smooth that further climbing was
a matter of sheer impossibility.

"At any rate, I am safe for the time being," soliloquised Mr.
Greenwood. "That is something to be thankful for, although I would
infinitely prefer the comfort of a bed to the prospect of spending a
winter's night less than halfway up a wall of rock. And even if that
mine explodes I think this ledge will provide sufficient protection
to minimise the force of the detonation."

Cautiously extending himself, he peered over the edge. In the
fast-gathering gloom he could just discern the mine as it rolled to
and fro on the shelving sand. The waves had almost borne it to the
base of the rocks.

A new danger now confronted the stranded man. Perilous as the climb
had been, the descent was doubly dangerous. When the time came, he
could no more essay the feat of regaining the beach than he could
hope to clamber up the remaining two hundred feet of beetling cliff.
Unless aid were forthcoming, he was in danger of perishing of cold
and hunger.

Mr. Greenwood's next step was to prepare for his approaching vigil
while there was yet light enough for him to see. The ledge was almost
twelve feet in length and five in its widest part, gradually
diminishing to nothing at either end. One portion was covered by a
withered bush, a circumstance that aroused the investigator's
curiosity, since it seemed remarkable that vegetation could grow on
the face of a granite cliff.

"Thank goodness I have pipe, matches, and tobacco," he thought
philosophically. Now that the immediate danger was past, he
determined to make the best of things.

He again directed his attention upon the bush. To use it as a seat
would be preferable to sitting on the hard, cold rock.

As he sat the bush gave way. In vain he clutched wildly for support.
Toppling backwards, he disappeared into what appeared to be the solid
rock.

For some moments he lay helpless, too dazed to realise what had
occurred. He was almost in darkness. A peculiar pungent smell
assailed his nostrils. Could it be possible that he owed his present
predicament to the explosion of the derelict mine?

After a while Mr. Greenwood raised himself. Grimly he reflected that
his visit to Auldhaig had not been uneventful. Adventures were
crowding upon each other's heels. His zest for excitement was
increasing.

The bush had broken his fall. He found himself on a flat floor of
what appeared to be a cavern. Where the foliage had been, appeared an
irregular opening through which the dim twilight filtered without
sufficient intensity to reveal his surroundings.

"One thing, I've a roof over my head," he soliloquised. "Now I am
getting on. But I really cannot understand this peculiar odour. It
reminds me very forcibly of a garage. Yes, petrol fumes. To be on the
safe side I don't think I'll smoke just at present. In fact, I think
it would be well to investigate."

Cautiously and on all-fours Mr. Greenwood commenced his tour of
discovery, crawling lest there should be a hole in the floor.

Soon his head came in contact with a metallic object. It was a filled
petrol tin, one of dozens, possibly hundreds, stacked in orderly
manner against one wall of the cave.

"Now, that's strange," murmured Mr. Greenwood "It is pretty certain
that that lot would not have been brought into this place from the
cliff, so there must be an outlet besides the hole through which I
tumbled. Why should a place like this be chosen to store petrol? And
why was the hole so carefully hidden with a dead bush? It looks jolly
fishy. Of course I've heard plenty of talk of German secret
petrol-bases in Great Britain, but I never believed the tales. By
smoke! I fancy I've stumbled upon one now. The first question is, how
am I to find a way out without being seen?"

Resuming his cautious crawl, Mr. Greenwood penetrated into the
recesses of the cave, keeping within touch of the rows of petrol-cans
on his right. Contrary to his expectations, the floor was smooth,
though tending to rise in the direction in which he was proceeding.

At about twenty yards from the hole through which he had tumbled, he
remembered that he had left his tracks uncovered. No need to creep on
all-fours now, for he had the irregular patch of light to guide him.
Grasping the displaced bush, he replaced it in the opening, and
chuckling to himself he again resumed his tour of exploration.

His spirits were rising rapidly. The love of adventure, that had lain
dormant for years, was reasserting itself. Also he began to realise
that he had now a chance of doing something definite for his
country--a chance that hitherto had been denied him on account of his
age.

He had quite forgotten the derelict mine. The fears that he had
entertained on that score had been completely dispelled by the
thought that he had lighted upon a discovery of real national
importance--the existence of a secret base for hostile submarines.

For quite a hundred yards he groped his way. The darkness was so
intense that it appeared to have weight--to press upon his eyes. The
tunnel, too, had contracted, for by extending both his arms he could
touch the enclosing walls. Once or twice he stood erect to relieve
the aching muscles of his back. He could then just touch the roof,
which, although of solid rock, was bone-dry.

Suddenly his forehead came in contact with a hard object. It was the
bottommost step of a stout ladder. The steps extended from side to
side, for the tunnel was still contracting. Further progress, except
by the ladder, was impossible, since the wall of rock terminated a
short distance beyond the base of the steps.

Mr. Greenwood examined his surroundings with great exactitude before
attempting the ascent. Everything had to be performed by the sense of
touch. The steps were of far greater thickness than the usual type of
ladder, and were more apart. Apparently they had been constructed to
bear very heavy weights, each one being strengthened by means of a
circular iron bar on the underside.

"I'm half inclined to use a match," thought Mr. Greenwood. "It's
risky, with all those petrol fumes about, but---- No, I won't; I'll
make the best of it."

Slowly he ascended. It reminded him of an infant attempting to climb
a staircase for the first time. The steps, in spite of their
solidity, creaked under his weight. The sounds, intensified by the
enclosed surroundings, added to the uncanniness of the mysterious
cave.

At the eighth step he found a trap-door above his head. It was what
he expected; but the question arose, what was on the other side? He
had no desire to blunder into the presence of half a dozen
desperadoes, who would doubtless have no scruples in knocking him
over the head and toppling his corpse down the cliff.

Even as he was considering the best thing to be done, he heard
footsteps overhead and a deep voice exclaiming, "Now, then, Max;
let's get on with the business. It's quite time we showed the signal.
Hand me yon crowbar and bear a hand to lift this trap. It's heavy."




CHAPTER IV

THE SECRET PETROL-DEPÔT


"NO, I don't want to meet Max & Co.--at least, not just yet,"
soliloquised Mr. Greenwood as he hurriedly and silently descended to
the floor of the tunnel. His first thought was to retrace his steps,
scramble through the opening and lie at full length upon the outside
ledge, until he realised that the mysterious frequenters of the cave
would still be between him and freedom.

Then he remembered that there was a space between the foot of the
ladder and the end of the tunnel. It was not at all likely that this
would be examined.

With an agility that he did not think himself capable of, Mr.
Greenwood crawled between two of the steps and crouched in his place
of concealment.

Barely had he done so when the trap-door was raised. A flood of light
streamed from above, although, fortunately, the flight of steps threw
a strong shadow upon the recumbent form of Mr. Greenwood.

"You vos leave open der door?" inquired a guttural voice.

"Yes, Max," was the reply. "It's main heavy, and there's no call to
exert ourselves to bustin'-point. No one'll come here after dark."

The speaker descended, holding an electric torch in his hand. He was
a short, thick-set fellow, dressed in soiled velveteens. He looked a
typical gamekeeper.

The person addressed as Max followed. He was a tall, fair-haired,
broad-shouldered man of about thirty years of age. He wore a long
overcoat and muffler, a hard felt hat, grey trousers and brown boots,
the latter being almost hidden under a thick deposit of mud.

"I've got a rope further along," continued the short man. "When they
answer our signals and send a boat, I'll lower you down. Only don't
forget it's cash on the nail."

"Vot vos dat?" asked Max.

"The fifty pounds agreed upon. We'll signal at intervals, but don't
be too jolly cocksure. They can't always be to time. If they show up
afore four in the mornin', count yourself lucky."

The men, still talking, moved down the tunnel, until a bend, that Mr.
Greenwood had passed without being aware of it, screened the light
from the place where he lay concealed.

"Now or never," he thought.

Extricating himself from his cramped position, he scaled the ladder.
Then, with his head almost level with the trap-door, he waited until
his eyes grew accustomed to the blaze of light.

The opening was placed in the floor of a room--the kitchen of a
small cottage, apparently. The two windows were heavily curtained.
The door was secured, in addition to the massive lock, by a stout
oaken beam resting in iron staples at either end. The furniture was
scanty, consisting of a deal table, on which lay the remains of a
meal and a large oil-lamp; three rush-bottomed chairs; a dresser, and
a well-worn horse-hair couch. On one of the beams overhead were slung
a couple of double-barrelled sporting guns. Opposite the door was
another opening to a second room.

Mr. Greenwood's first impulse upon emerging from the tunnel was to
slam the heavy trap-door and pile the furniture on top of it. But, he
reflected, the men had a means of escape by the rope of which the
short man had spoken. Moreover, they would raise the alarm and
prevent the approach of the expected boat, which, more than likely,
would put off from a German submarine.

No, he must make his escape without arousing suspicion. It would be
an easy matter to unbar the door, but since he could not replace the
cross-bar after he was outside, such a step would be unwise.

Throwing back the curtain he tried one of the windows. It was a
latticed casement. With a little agility he could squeeze through,
replace the curtain and trust to luck that the unsecured window might
escape detection.

Two minutes later he was breathing the open air--a free man.

He looked about him. The night air blew cold. He had no idea of the
direction of Auldhaig. For the time being his quest for the cruiser
was out of the question.

Far away and at a considerably lower level two rows of lamps
glimmered through the darkness. They were the anchor lights of the
decoy boats of the fleet lying in Auldhaig Harbour. The town and the
actual ships were shrouded in darkness, but every night numbers of
small boats, each showing a white light, were moored at some distance
from the fleet. At one time they might be placed half a dozen cables'
lengths to the north'ard of the anchorage, at another a similar
distance to the eastward, the idea being to mislead any Zeppelin that
might attempt to drop bombs upon the harbour and shipping.

Setting his face towards the friendly lights, Mr. Greenwood began the
descent of the rough hillside. Before he had gone a quarter of a mile
the irresistible yearning for a pipe assailed him. Turning his back
to the wind, he struck a match, and was soon puffing contentedly at
his gratifying briar.

Suddenly half a dozen dark forms pounced upon him. Before he could
utter a sound he was seized by a pair of muscular hands, and a hoarse
voice exclaimed:

"Now, then, wot's your little game? Flashing lights at this time o'
night, eh?"

Mr. Greenwood did not immediately reply. His dignity as a respectable
British citizen had been outraged. He drew himself up with as much
hauteur as the circumstances would permit.

"Allow me to inform you," he said stiffly, "that I will not be spoken
to in this dictatorial manner."

"All right, old sport, don't bust yourself," rejoined his questioner.
"Now, what are you doing here this time o' night? Wanderin' along
the cliffs at ten o'clock wants a little explanation."

"As a matter of fact I was looking for H.M.S. 'Pompey,'" began Mr.
Greenwood.

A roar of laughter greeted this announcement.

"D'ye expect to find her on top of a cliff?" asked the man when the
merriment had subsided. "Look here, this is a serious matter. We're
the Coast Patrol. We saw a light about a quarter of an hour ago and
another just now."

"When I lit my pipe," added Mr. Greenwood, who, still ruffled by his
reception, had decided not to impart the secret to the uncouth crowd
that had waylaid him; "and what I said about the 'Pompey' is
absolutely correct. I was directed along the cliffs, missed my way,
and got cut off by the tide. My object was to visit my son, who is an
officer on board the cruiser in question. If you have any reason to
doubt my statement, inquiries on board will remove all suspicion."

"You came up over the cliffs, sir?" asked the man respectfully, for
Mr. Greenwood's declaration that he was the father of a naval officer
could not lightly be ignored.

"I did," replied Mr. Greenwood with studied pride. He did not think
it necessary to explain how.

"Well, you're a game 'un, pardon my saying so. P'raps, sir, you won't
mind if we sees you back to the town. Dooty is dooty, an' we must
satisfy ourselves that you are what you says you are. Got any friends
at Auldhaig?"

Mr Greenwood was adverse to causing his daughter anxiety at that time
of night. At the hotel he was known only as a stranger putting up for
a few days.

"I'm afraid I haven't," he replied. "But, if it is not too late, I
suppose you could accompany me on board the cruiser?"

The men conferred amongst themselves; then the spokesman again
addressed the object of his suspicion.

"All right, sir; that'll be the best way, I'm thinking. Best foot
forward, sir. We may just catch the six-bell boat from the staith."

The speaker and another member of the patrol fell in on either side
of their suspect, while the rest of the party disappeared in the
opposite direction.

"We are members of the National Guard," explained the senior of the
two men. "'Tain't exactly a soft job, but it's something. Not often
do we come across strangers on the cliffs after dark. When we do, we
generally run 'em in. My word, I'd like to know how you got up here
from the beach, sir!"

Mr. Greenwood declined the bait. He was well satisfied with the way
events were shaping themselves. In spite of his misadventures and the
lateness of the hour, he stood a fair chance of seeing his son that
night.

Half an hour's steady tramp brought him and his escort to the staith
or quay. Answering the challenge of the armed seaman on sentry, the
patrol men ascertained that the "Pompey's" boat had not yet put off
to bring back a party of officers who had been ashore on leave.

Presently several great-coated forms appeared through the darkness.
Amongst them was the commander.

"Beg pardon, sir," said the sentry. "Three civilians require passage
to the 'Pompey.'"

"Eh, what?" queried the commander. "At this time of night? What for?
Who are they?"

Mr. Greenwood seized the opportunity by explaining to the naval
officer that he had urgent reasons for seeing his son--Assistant
Paymaster Eric Greenwood, R.N.R.

"Personal reasons?" asked the commander. "I am afraid you will have
to defer your visit till the morning. Sorry; but personal
considerations have to stand aside in wartime. And who might your
companions be?"

"My--er--my goalers, I suppose I must term them," explained Mr.
Greenwood. "I am, I believe, under arrest. In addition to personal
reasons I have a matter of national importance which I wish to bring
to the notice of the authorities. Since I know only two people
connected with the service, both of whom are officers on the
'Pompey,' I thought---- But I'd rather explain to you alone."

The commander hesitated. He was a genial man, ready to do anyone a
good turn. If, however, he took the responsibility of introducing a
civilian on board on the strength of what might prove to be a
cock-and-bull story, he might be rapped over the knuckles by the
Admiralty--and, he reflected, being rapped over the knuckles by My
Lords generally resulted in the sting remaining for many a long day.

"Why not make your report to the flag captain?" suggested the
commander suavely. "His shore office is open day and night, and that
would save you a tedious boat journey on a cold night like this."

Mr. Greenwood could be very obstinate when occasion arose. Having
gone thus far, he was determined to see the business through in the
manner he had intended.

"No, sir," he replied. "I do not want to run about after flag
captains at this hour of the night. If you cannot see your way clear
to accede to my request, the important matter of which I hinted must
wait. The responsibility which is no light one--will be transferred
to other shoulders."

It was the turn of the commander to be taken aback. He was not used
to be talked to like this by civilians. He tried to fix the
middle-aged gentleman with his best quarter-deck glare, but the
darkness foiled him. Had he been able to see the dishevelled
individual in the light he would doubtless have come to the
conclusion that he was being tackled by a person with an unhinged
mind.

"Very well--carry on," he exclaimed. "Here's the boat. Coxswain!
assist this gentleman into the stern-sheets."

"And us, sir?" began the National Guard, but the naval officer
"choked him off."

"No, no," he interrupted hurriedly. "I'll be responsible for
your--er--prisoner."

Guided by the coxswain, Mr. Greenwood stepped off the quay into the
stern-sheets of the picquet-boat. In fifteen seconds he found himself
sandwiched between two young officers, while another half a dozen
completely crowded out the strictly limited space.

The coxswain sounded a bell in the engine-room. The engines were
reversed and the long, lean boat backed from the quay. Then, at full
speed ahead, she glided rapidly, without lights, through the pitch
dark waters of Auldhaig Harbour.




CHAPTER V

EXPLANATIONS


"PASS the word for Mr. Greenwood," ordered the commander as
Greenwood, Senior, found himself on the quarter-deck.

The voyage, short as it had been, was a revelation to him. It showed
him how the navy men handle their boats on a winter's night, without
a light to guide them, and unable themselves to show the orthodox
red, white, and green steaming lights. He was in momentary dread of
finding himself in the water owing to the picquet-boat either
colliding with something or else being cut in twain by another marine
race-horse. He marvelled at the sangfroid of his uniformed
companions, who chatted and cut jokes with each other with the utmost
unconcern. The hoarse challenge "Boat Ahoy!" from the sentry on the
"Pompey's" fore-bridge and the seemingly inconsequent "Aye, aye" of
the picquet-boat's coxswain gave him an insight into the ceaseless
vigilance of Britain's first line of defence.

Almost in a whirl he found himself ascending the accommodation-ladder
and gaining the spacious quarter-deck.

"Eric, my boy!" exclaimed Mr. Greenwood delightedly, as his son,
arrayed in unfamiliar garb, ascended the companion.

"By Jove! pater, what on earth brings you here?" inquired the A.P.,
astonished at the identity of his visitor. Then he paused, having
become aware of the presence of the commander, who stood like a
guardian angel behind the benighted visitor.

"Your father has told me that he wishes to communicate a matter of
urgent importance, Mr. Greenwood," said the commander. "I think it
would be well if you saw him in your cabin. If, in your opinion, the
business is urgent, you will please report to me."

He moved away to consult with the officer of the watch before going
below. Father and son stood irresolute; Mr. Greenwood hardly knowing
how to begin, while Eric was beginning to wonder how and by what
possible means could his parent possess a certain knowledge that
would require to be reported to the commander.

Down the ladder and the half-deck Mr. Greenwood followed his son.
Here an alert sentry drew himself up as the young officer passed.
Then the stolidity of his face gave place to an amused expression as
he noticed the dishevelled appearance of the A.P.'s companion.

"This way," continued Eric. "My cabin's under repairs. Haven't got it
quite ship-shape after that little affair off the Belgian coast. I'll
take you into Tressidar's cabin. Of course you know he's shipmates
with me?"

He knocked at the metal door. Receiving an invitation to enter, he
opened the door and drew aside a curtain. The cabin was small and
brilliantly lighted. Over the closed scuttle a curtain had been drawn
to make doubly sure that no stray rays were visible from without.

Seated in an arm-chair drawn close to a very small and compact stove
was Sub-lieutenant Ronald Tressidar.

"I say, old man----" began Eric; then, noticing the look of
astonishment in the sub.'s eyes, he broke off and followed the
direction of Tressidar's gaze. For the first time he became aware of
his usually precise parent's appearance.

Mr. Greenwood wore his coat buttoned tightly round his throat. The
coat was literally caked with mud and dust and in addition was rent
across the right shoulder. His face was as dirty as the proverbial
tinker's; on his left cheek was a line of dried blood, the result of
an unheeded scratch received in his tumble in company with the dead
bush. His hair, generally sleek and well brushed, was tousled and
matted with wisps of grass.

"Pater!" exclaimed Eric in utter amazement.

"It's all right, my boy," declared Mr. Greenwood reassuringly. "I've
had the night of my life--absolutely. No, don't go, Tressidar. Listen
to what I've discovered."

"Have a stiff glass of grog, sir?" asked the sub., after Mr.
Greenwood had washed his face and hands and had smoothed his ruffled
hair.

"Thanks, I could do with one," replied Greenwood, Senior. "In fact, I
was on the point of asking for a whisky, only I thought from your
look of astonishment that you imagined I had already had one too
many. No, thank Heaven, I've got off lightly, but I've left my best
umbrella on the beach."

"Fire away, pater," said Eric. "We are all attention."

Mr. Greenwood "fired away." Uninterrupted he pursued his narrative
until he came to the discovery of the supposed derelict mine.

"It wasn't glass by any chance?" asked Tressidar.

"Glass?" repeated Mr. Greenwood. "Well, now I come to think of it,
perhaps it did resemble glass. But why do you ask?"

"Because, judging by your description of its size and buoyancy, I am
inclined to think that your mine was one of the glass buoys we use
for marking the position of our submarine obstructions. After
on-shore gales the coastguards find hundreds of them."

The narrator mopped his forehead. A wave of horrible uncertainty
swept over him. Perhaps, then, the second episode of his nocturnal.
adventures would have similar harmless interpretation?

"Carry on, pater," said Eric encouragingly.

"By Jove, sir!" exclaimed Tressidar, when Mr. Greenwood arrived at
his discovery of the petrol-depôt. "Cut it short, if you don't
mind. Let's have the salient facts. Every minute is of extreme
importance."

Five minutes later the sub. was reporting the matter to the
commander, who, in turn, communicated the discovery to the captain.

In ordinary circumstances the captain of the cruiser ought to have
submitted a written report to the senior naval officer at Auldhaig,
but red tape had long since gone by the board so far as naval matters
were concerned. Other Government departments were still tied hand and
foot with fathoms of red tape. Well it was that at the Admiralty the
Gordian knot had been severed on that memorable 4th of August, 1914.

In a very short space of time the skipper's plans were formed. A
landing-party, under the orders of Sub-lieutenant Tressidar, was to
proceed at once to the solitary cottage. Since Mr. Greenwood was very
hazy as to its locality, the assistance of the National Guard forming
the coast-patrol was to be requisitioned.

Two pulling-boats, in charge of the first lieutenant, were to proceed
to the bay where the entrance to the cave was situated. Mr.
Greenwood's description of the spot was sufficiently accurate for the
place to be identified. Examination of the chart showed that for
miles northward from the entrance to Auldhaig Firth there was only
water deep enough for a submarine to approach within easy distance of
the shore at this particular indentation, which bore the name of
Sallach Dhu Bay.

Eric Greenwood asked and obtained permission to accompany the
landing-party. He felt that as his father had been the means of
locating the petrol-store, his son had a kind of interest in the
proceedings.

Mr. Greenwood, who was now feeling the reaction of his unwonted
exertions, asked to be put ashore. He was content to have a good
night's rest at the hotel and learn developments in the morning.

"Bless my soul, Eric!" he exclaimed as his son, with a conspicuous
revolver-holster strapped to his great-coat, appeared in the doorway
of his cabin. "What are you doing with that weapon? I thought
assistant paymasters were non-combatants?"

Eric grinned. He did not think fit to enlighten his parent on the
matter. Mentally he recalled a certain forenoon off Ostend. For three
hours he was on duty in the fore-top, with hostile shells flying
thick and fast. One, he vividly remembered, hurtled a few feet from
the mast, cutting away the shrouds on the starboard side, but
fortunately without exploding. He and his comrades in that lofty
perch had missed annihilation by almost a miracle.

"Get so much work in the ship's office that I'm glad of a breather,"
he remarked. "Oh, by the way, we're having a sort of informal
reception on board to-morrow afternoon. Several of the officers'
wives and families are turning up. You might bring Doris, and then
you can sample naval hospitality in wartime. The boat will be at the
staith at six bells--that's three o'clock."

"Come on, old man," called out Tressidar. "The boat's alongside. Are
you ready, Mr. Greenwood?"

The cutter, in which about twenty armed seamen were already seated,
had dropped back from the boom to the accommodation-ladder.
Tressidar, the A.P. and a midshipman were Mr. Greenwood's companions
in the stern-sheets.

At the landing-place Mr. Greenwood waited as the men silently "fell
in," while a seaman hurried off to enlist the services of the
National Guard to guide them to the scene of operations.

In a very short time the two coast-patrol men arrived. Briefly the
situation was explained to them. Tressidar gave the order, and the
landing-party moved forward and were soon lost in the darkness.

For some moments Mr. Greenwood stood still, hardly able to convince
himself that he was not dreaming. Then he broke into a run in the
direction of the armed men. Guided by the thud of their footfalls, he
overtook them before they were clear of the market-place.

"I say, Eric," he exclaimed breathlessly. "If you've a chance there's
my best umbrella on the beach. Don't forget it, if you can help it,
there's a good lad."

And having eased his mind on that point, he wended his way to the
Bantyre Hotel.




CHAPTER VI

AN EXCELLENT NIGHT'S WORK


"THERE'S the cottage, sir," whispered one of the guides, pointing to
a dark object silhouetted against the starlit sky.

The sub. halted his party and called them to attention. Six of them
with the A.P., were to accompany him to the house; the others, under
the command of the midshipman, were to form a cordon round the
building and also to establish communication with the boats when the
crucial time arrived.

Stealthily Tressidar approached the window through which Mr.
Greenwood had effected his escape. The casement was ajar. He opened
it and drew the curtain aside the fraction of an inch. The room,
still lighted, was deserted. Signing to his men to remain, he stole
quietly through the window and approached the trap-door leading to
the tunnel. He could detect the fumes of petrol. With the burning
lamp the cottage was in momentary peril of being blown up by the
ignition of the air and volatile spirit with which it was so highly
charged. Either the occupier was a madman or a fool, he argued.

Unbarring and unlocking the door, Tressidar brought his men into the
room. Extinguishing the lamp, he switched on his electric torch and
led the way down the ladder to the tunnel.

Contrary to his expectations, the descent was effected without any of
the seamen stumbling, dropping their rifles, or making a noise that
would betray their presence. In silence the men awaited their
officer's next order, which was given by signs.

Tressidar weighed the matter over in his mind. To act quickly it was
necessary to have light, since the darkness gave the miscreants an
undoubted advantage. To attempt to stalk them in the pitch-black
darkness would be running a risk of premature discovery. As far as he
knew, there was about eighty yards of tunnel, including a fairly
sharp bend between him and the seaward end of the cave.

Still keeping the torch switched on, Tressidar advanced swiftly and
silently down the tunnel. He found not one but two turns in the
passage. Upon rounding the second, the rays of his torch fell upon
the two men of whom he was in search.

They were both lying across the sill of the natural opening
communicating with the outside ledge. Both had night-glasses glued to
their eyes, and so intent were they in keeping the expanse of dark
water under observation that they failed to notice the illumination
that flooded the cave.

There was no peremptory order of "Hands up!" No dramatic covering with
revolvers. The British seamen simply grasped the recumbent men and
dragged them back to the floor of the cave almost before they had
time to utter a sound.

"Take that fellow back to the cottage," ordered the sub., indicating
the man who had been addressed as Max. "Search him, question him,
then report to me."

The German was hurried off. He offered no resistance.

Tressidar waited until unmistakable sounds told him that Max and his
captors were ascending the ladder, then he turned to the second
prisoner.

"You are expecting to communicate with a German submarine?" he began.

"No, sir, no," expostulated the man, his face contorted with fear.
"I'll explain everything. I'll make a clean breast of it. That
man"--and he pointed with his thumb along the tunnel--"is an escaped
prisoner. He is a German officer. Some of my pals put him on to me,
and, like a fool, I said I would hide him until a fishing-boat could
take him across to Holland."

"You're a British subject," declared the sub. contemptuously.

"I am, sir. Never got into trouble before this. I've been led into
it, sir, honest, I have."

"Honest you haven't," corrected Tressidar sternly. "Now, listen, you
know the penalty--death.

"What, for harbouring a German prisoner, sir?" asked the man.

"No--for supplying hostile vessels with petrol. You have hundreds of
gallons stored here, and I'll swear you cannot satisfactorily account
for that quantity. Moreover, you were heard to say that a submarine
was expected about three or four in the morning. Now, look here, what
are the prearranged signals?"

"Curse you!--find out," muttered the man surlily.

"I mean to," rejoined the sub. suavely. "Let me put the facts before
you. You're caught red-handed. There are no extenuating
circumstances. You are deliberately betraying your country for the
sake of a few hundred pounds, I suppose. If you give us all the
assistance that lies in your power, that fact will be taken into
consideration at your trial. I'll vouch for that. Now, I'll give you
five minutes to think things over."

Leaving the prisoner in charge of a couple of seamen, the sub.
approached the seaward entrance. Drawing his binoculars from their
case, he focussed them on the water of the bay. The tide was now on
the first of the ebb, with perhaps six feet of water close to the
base of the cliffs.

By the aid of the powerful night-glasses he could just discern the
grey forms of the "Pompey's" two boats. The first lieutenant had lost
no time in proceeding to the spot, for his preparations were already
complete, and the boats were even now withdrawing to a discreet
distance to await developments.

With a grunt of satisfaction Tressidar replaced his binoculars and
again confronted his prisoner.

"Time's up!" he exclaimed laconically.

"I'll tell you everything----" began the man.

"And mind you speak the truth," warned the sub. "Now, fire away."

"A submarine is expected," declared the prisoner. "At what hour I
cannot say--it might be any hour between now and daybreak. She won't
show any lights. She'll anchor in Half Way Deep and send a boat
ashore. The men will imitate the curlew call three times, and I was
to reply with a cry like the hoot of an owl. Then I had to lower
petrol-cans as fast as I could."

"And your companion?" inquired Tressidar. "Who is he?"

"As I said before, sir, a German officer who broke out of one of the
prison camps."

"His name?"

"I don't know, sir, except that it's Max."

The prisoner, who gave his name as Thomas Telder and was a gamekeeper
in the employ of a large landowner in the vicinity, was removed under
escort to the cottage, while the midshipman, having questioned the
German, appeared to report to his superior officer.

"The fellow's a pretty cool customer," declared the midshipman. "Now
that the game's up he doesn't appear to mind in the least. He says
his name's Max Falkenheim, and that he's an unter-leutnant of the
cruiser 'Mainz.' He was one of those fellows who were reported to
have escaped from Donington Hall by digging a tunnel."

"Jolly rummy that he should fetch up here," commented the sub. "He's
a long way out of his reckoning."

"Unless the east coast of England is too closely guarded," added the
midshipman. "However, the fact remains that he was within an ace of
getting clear. He swears he knows nothing about the unterseeboot, but
that he had agreed with that skunk to put him on board a lugger."

"H'm; well, that's good enough for us. See anything, Parsons?" added
Tressidar, addressing one of the seamen who had been told to keep a
sharp look-out.

"No, sir; fancied I did, but it was a wash-out."

"Any of you men know how to hoot like an owl?" asked the sub.

"Yes, sir; I do," replied a tall able seaman, who in his youth had
been a farm hand in the North Riding of Yorkshire.

"Very good; stand by, and when Parsons reports the submarine's
signal--three cries of the curlew--do you hoot: once only, remember.
The rest of you stand easy. I say, Greenwood, you might rummage up
aloft and see if there's anything of an incriminating nature in the
cottage. Make sure that all the blinds are drawn. I'll give you the
word as soon as the strafed U-boat is sighted, if you don't finish
before."

As a matter of fact the A.P. carried out his orders long before the
submarine revealed her presence. It was within an hour and twenty
minutes of sunrise--the tide being well on the flood--that the
long-expected cry was faintly borne to the alert ears of the
watchers.

Promptly the able seaman replied, and barely had the weird echoes
died away when the sub. heard the muffled sound of oars being boated
and the crunch of heavy boots on the dry kelp.

"Right you vos," exclaimed a guttural voice. "Lower der cans as fast
as you vos like."

In reply Sub-lieutenant Tressidar whipped out his revolver and fired
three shots in quick succession into the darkness. Then, with nerves
a-tingle, he waited.


It will now be necessary to follow the movements of the two
pulling-boats under the orders of the first lieutenant. On putting
off from the cruiser, the boats made for the harbour's mouth. Outside
the sea was fairly smooth, with a long, oily swell, for during the
night the wind had backed to north-west and blew diagonally off
shore.

Owing to the proximity of several dangerous ledges that extended
seven or eight cables' length seaward the boats had to make a long
detour before they arrived at Sallach Dhu Bay.

"We can't be so very far off now," remarked the first lieutenant to
the midshipman in his boat. "It's that confoundedly black that
goodness only knows where we are."

"Allowing for the tide, sir, I should think we're almost over Half
Way Deep. Shall I have the lead heaved, sir?"

A cast gave the depth at two fathoms--certainly not enough to float a
submarine, still less to enable her to submerge. The leadsman could
feel the sinker trailing over the rocky bottom, as the boat drifted
with the tidal current.

Again and again the lead-line gave approximately the same soundings.
The first lieutenant began to have doubts as to whether he had
already overshot the looked-for spot.

Suddenly the water increased in depth to fourteen and a half fathoms.
That, allowing for the state of the tide, was the depth shown in the
chart for Half Way Deep--a bottle-shaped depression extending well
into the otherwise shallow waters of Sallach Dhu Bay.

The kedge was let go and, riding head to tide, the boat brought up,
to enable the first lieutenant to confer with the officer in the
second boat.

Carefully screening the light with a piece of painted canvas, the
"No. 1" consulted the boat-compass.

"North one hundred and ten east, is your course," he announced to the
officer in charge of his consort. "That'll be taking into
consideration the cross set of the tide. I'll pay you out a hundred
and twenty fathoms of grass warp, then you'll steer due north. When
you've let go all the charge, make for the shore. We'll be on the
look-out for you. Suppose you've tested circuits?"

"You bet," replied the other with a grin. "Between us there won't be
a fish left alive in Half Way Deep, or a strafed U-boat either, I
hope."

The second boat pushed off, her coxswain steering by means of a
luminous compass. As soon as the strain of the connecting line grew
taut, her kedge was dropped. Then both boats, approximately two
hundred yards apart, allowing for the sag of the grass-rope under the
influence of the tide, rowed on parallel courses, paying out lengths
of sinister-looking objects that resembled strings of exaggerated
sausages. This they continued to do until Half Way Deep was mined by
a double chain of explosives.

The first lieutenant's boat was the first to reach the shore.
Cautiously the crew scrambled out and drew her clear of the water, a
petty officer handing the battery and firing-key ashore as carefully
as if it were made of priceless metal.

Five minutes later the second boat loomed through the darkness.

"All correct, sir," reported her officer. "Suppose this is the bay?
Wish to goodness I could smoke."

"And so do all of us, old boy," replied No. 1. "But curb your
desires: you'll see plenty of smoke presently."

Huddled together under the lee side of the boats the two crews spent
a tedious time, while their officers, treading softly, walked up and
down the sands.

At intervals they exchanged curt sentences in whispers; otherwise the
strictest silence was maintained. As the night wore on, the first
lieutenant consulted the luminous dial of his watch with increasing
frequency, until he began to wonder if the A.P.'s parent had been
dreaming or was the victim of hallucinations. But throughout his
monotonous patrol No. 1 took good care to keep within twenty yards of
the firing-battery.

Presently he stopped dead and listened intently. Yes, he could just
detect the faint sounds of muffled oars. The noise came from a spot
considerably nearer than he anticipated: much too close to the
drawn-up boats. What if the new-comers spotted the grey shapes as
they lay on the sand?

The seamen heard the sounds, too, for several of them knelt up and
peered over the gunwales. There was a concerted movement of the now
alert men. The tedious vigil in the bitterly cold night was
forgotten.

Then through the darkness came the curlew cry of the submarine's men,
followed by the distant hoot of the British seaman who had been
deputed to assume the rôle of an owl. What these meant the first
lieutenant knew not. His pre-arranged signal had not yet been
received. Bang! bang!! bang!!!

Fifty feet in the air the blackness was pierced by three vivid
flashes, to the accompaniment of the sharp cracks of cordite-charged
cartridges.

"Now!" shouted the first lieutenant.

The men in charge of the firing-batteries depressed the keys that
completed the circuit.

Instantly the waters of Half Way Deep were lashed into two parallel
columns of foam as a double chain of cascades leapt a hundred feet or
so in the air. Then a terrific crash, mingled with the roar of the
falling water and the thud of fragments of flying metal coming in
contact with the granite cliff.

In the village of Auldhaig the concussion was severely felt.
Window-panes were shivered; solidly built houses literally rocked.
People, aroused from sleep, dashed blindly for the streets or to
their cellars, fully convinced that the Zeppelins had arrived. Only
one individual slept through it all; Mr. Greenwood, dreaming of
petrol-cans, floating mines, and his lost umbrella, and buried under
the bed-clothes, knew nothing of the concussion until next morning,
Barely had the echoes died away ere the first lieutenant and his
party were doubling along the beach towards the place where the
unterseeboot's dinghy had landed.

The canvas boat, with a long rent in her bilge, had been carried far
up the shore by the rush of water following the tremendous upheaval.
Her crew, consisting of a petty officer and two men, were too dazed
to offer resistance, for upon the approach of the bluejackets they
threw up their arms and yelled dismally for quarter. Almost at their
feet was a large fragment of metal--one of the propeller blades of
the shattered submarine.

"Are you all O.K., Mr. Tressidar?" sang out the first lieutenant.

"All correct, sir," replied Ronald. "We've nabbed the pair of them."

"Very good," rejoined No. 1. "Leave four men to guard the cottage and
return to the ship. By the bye, have you a cigarette to spare? I left
my case on board."

It did not occur to the speaker how he was to receive a cigarette
from the sub., who was fifty feet above him, until he became aware of
a dark object descending the cliffs by means of a rope.

Eric Greenwood, with a double purpose, had ordered two of the men to
lower him to the beach.

"Here's my case, No. 1," he announced, as he fumbled under his pile
of clothing. "Matches? You have? Would you mind giving me a passage
back in the boat? I have a little commission to undertake."


[Illustration: "THEY THREW UP THEIR ARMS AND YELLED FOR QUARTER"]


Receiving permission, the A.P. made his way along the beach, the
first lieutenant watching him curiously, for dawn was now breaking.
Presently Eric returned with his parent's umbrella.

An hour later both boats ran alongside the "Pompey." Tressidar had
already returned and had lost no time in making his report and
retiring to his cabin to make up for arrears of sleep.

In spite of the early hour Captain Raxworthy was on desk, and as the
first lieutenant came over the side he was waiting to congratulate
him.

"An excellent night's work, Mr. Garboard!" he exclaimed
delightedly--"a most excellent night's work!"




CHAPTER VII

THE DAY FOLLOWING


"SAY, Snatcher, you're warned for D.B. party, ain't you?" inquired
Stoker Jorkler. "D'ye mind if we change about?"

Stoker Flanaghan, commonly known as Snatcher, paused in the act of
conveying a knifeblade well laden with peas to his capacious mouth.
Such a request--for a man to voluntarily offer to undertake the
disagreeable duty of cleaning and painting double
bottoms--figuratively "took the wind out of his sails."

"Wot for?" he asked guardedly. "Wot's the bloomin' move?"

"Only there's leave for the starboard watch, and I'm some keen to nip
ashore," replied Jorkler. "And you can have my tot of rum for a week
if you do."

"Wants considerin', Rhino, old man," declared Snatcher. "Wot price
the lootenant of the watch an' the jaunty?"

"They won't twig," said Jorkler. "I guess the bloke don't know the
names of half the men in his watch-bill, and the master-at-arms won't
care a brass farthing whether it's Snatcher Flanaghan or Rhino
Jorkler who goes out of the ship so long as he comes back without
being three sheets in the wind. And trust me for that, Snatcher.
You've never seen me fresh?"

"True, that I ain't," replied the man reflectively, "or you wouldn't
be so keen on chuckin' away your tot o' rum. Orl right, mate."

"Thanks," said Jorkler briefly, and without further delay he hurried
off to change into his canvas suit for double bottom work.

Before he left the mess he had transferred a certain object from his
ditty-box to his spacious jumper. Then, satisfying himself that there
was no suspicious bulge to excite the curiosity of the officer of
divisions, he fell in with the rest of the party.

Ten minutes later Stoker Jorkler, armed with a tin of red lead, a
brush, some cotton waste, and a lighted candle, was surveying the
oval-shaped aperture leading to a confined space between the outer
and inner plating of the ship's hull. With him were a dozen others,
similarly equipped, under the orders of a leading stoker.

It was not a pleasant occupation that Rhino had taken upon himself.
In each of the cellular subdivisions of the hull a man had to crawl
in as best he might, having first ascertained by means of the lighted
candle that the air was sufficiently pure. Unless the candle burnt
clearly, the place was dangerous to life. Stringent regulations were
laid down to prevent accidents, fresh air being pumped into the
double bottoms, while men were always on the watch to see that the
workers were unaffected by the poisonous gases from the red lead.

"Right as ninepence," declared the leading stoker, referring to the
light that gleamed in the space to which Jorkler had been detailed.
"In you get, mate, and look slippy."

Jorkler obeyed. By dint of much writhing he succeeded in squeezing
through the manhole. He found himself in a slightly curving space
measuring about fifteen feet in length and twenty to twenty-four
inches in height, and twenty feet or more below the level of the sea.

"Now, if the ship's torpedoed I'm a fair goner," thought Jorkler, but
he knew that that possibility was very remote. The steps taken to
guard Auldhaig Firth from submarine attack were so elaborate and
efficient that no hostile craft could hope to get in. Moreover, the
"Pompey" was well up the longest arm of the harbour. Between her and
the entrance were at least half a dozen cruisers and twenty
destroyers.

He worked with desperate energy, "scaling" off the rust, removing
the metal flakes, and smothering the plating with liberal doses of
red-lead. Then he paused and listened intently. He could hear the
noise of the men at work in the adjoining compartments. It was now
close on eight bells (noon). By that time the work would have to be
completed.

"Guess I'm in luck," he soliloquised. "Unless I am much mistaken this
part of the double bottom is right bang underneath the for'ard
magazine. Pity it wasn't under the after one, but that can't be
helped."

Turning on his side he extracted the "thing" from his jumper. It was
a high-explosive charge, to which was attached a small but powerful
battery. The charge he placed in the furthermost end of the
compartment behind a tee-shaped flange. Here, unless deliberately
sought for, it was safe from detection.

His next step was to produce his watch. To all outward appearances it
was an ordinary silver timekeeper, but minute examination would
reveal the presence of two small holes drilled through the back. Into
these holes he inserted metal plugs attached to two insulated wires
from the battery. One of the plugs projected beyond the face
sufficiently to impede the progress of the hour hand, while the
minute hand could clear it by a fraction of an inch. At four o'clock
the hour hand would come in contact with the terminal, the circuit
would be completed, and then----

"Nearly finished there?" inquired the leading stoker, shouting
through the oval aperture. "Just about done," replied Jorkler. "How
goes it?"

"Close on eight bells," was the reply. "Buck up and don't keep me
hanging about all the blessed day."

With the perspiration pouring off him and his clothes daubed with red
lead and iron rust, Jorkler emerged from the compartment to find that
the rest of the D.B. party had already completed their respective
tasks.

Lowering an electric inspection lamp into the compartment, the
leading stoker made a perfunctory examination of Jorkler's legitimate
handiwork.

"You ain't half slapped it about," he remarked casually. "Guess you
knew it was his Majesty's stores you were using and not your own
gear."

After inspection by the ship's surgeon, who superintended the issue
of a glass of lime-juice (in which sulphuric acid was a component
part) to each man to ward off the injurious effect of the red lead,
the men washed and changed. After dinner they were at liberty to do
practically what they liked, it being Thursday, or "Make and Mend
Day."

Just before five bells the liberty men fell in on the quarter-deck
for critical inspection before going ashore. As Jorkler had expected,
he had no difficulty in passing under the borrowed name of Flanaghan,
for the M.A.A. took it without question.

Packed like sardines, the boat pushed off. Halfway to the staith they
passed the "Pompey's" steam pinnace with a couple of officers and a
small party of ladies and children in the stern-sheets.

"What's the game?" inquired the pseudo-Flanaghan, indicating with a
jerk of his head the passing craft.

"Bloomin' at-'ome, I'll allow," replied one of the men. "They take
jolly good care not to let our pals on board."

Jorkler nodded sympathetic assent.

"They're looking for trouble," he muttered to himself. "How was I to
know? Anyway, that's their look-out, not mine."

On arriving at the quay the stoker slipped away from the rest of his
shipmates. Out of sight he stepped out briskly, making in the
direction of the hills at the back of the town.


"Where's Eric?" inquired Mr. Greenwood of Ronald Tressidar, as he
gained the quarterdeck. The sub., engaged in animated conversation
with Doris Greenwood, did not hear the question until it was
repeated.

"Eric? Oh, I really don't know. I'll inquire."

Doris Greenwood was a golden-haired, blue-eyed girl possessed of a
wealth of natural vivacity and an even-tempered disposition. Slightly
above middle height, with a graceful bearing, she looked particularly
attractive in her nurse's uniform.

Already she was the centre of attraction of a group of young
officers, who, while envying Tressidar for his good luck, were
inwardly reviling their comrade for his dog-in-the-manger policy.

"Seen Greenwood?" asked Ronald of an engineer sub-lieutenant.

"How about an intro?" inquired the officer addressed, ignoring the
question.

"Go slow, old bird," rejoined Tressidar, laughing. "I'll introduce
you all in good time. If you want to be in her good books, find young
Greenwood. She's his sister."

"Brothers are generally in the way," retorted the engineer
sub-lieutenant. "Greenwood isn't: he's gone ashore. The fleet pay
sent him to the cashier's office."

Meanwhile, Doris had been unostentatiously taking stock of her
brother's messmates. Life afloat, she reflected, does make a man. She
compared Tressidar most favourably in his neat and serviceable
uniform to the Ronald of her early days. Then, when he wasn't
bashful, he was rude; now he was the personification of
self-possession and mental and physical alertness.

As for Mr. Greenwood, he remained in wondrous meditation of the
vastness of his surroundings. Apart from his nocturnal visit to the
"Pompey," he had never before set foot on the deck of a British
man-of-war. The tompioned muzzle of the after 9.2-in. gun, the
towering superstructure with its array of quick-firers and
searchlights, the lofty masts and enormous funnels--all in turn
demanded his attention.

The vastness of his surroundings almost overpowered him. He had no
idea that an armoured cruiser was so immense.

That afternoon there were nearly twenty adult visitors, mostly of the
feminine sex, and a dozen or more children on board. It was not a
usual procedure in wartime, but, giving due consideration to
circumstances, the captain of the cruiser had good reasons to believe
that there was no danger to be anticipated. In any case, the visitors
would be clear of the ship before sunset.

The amusement of the children fell to the lot of the junior officers,
and soon the gunroom resounded to the unusual sound of juvenile
voices. Two little boys, rigged out in fencing helmets and padded
coats, were mounted on the backs of a couple of midshipmen and were
engaged in a realistic encounter with single-sticks--most realistic
in the opinion of the human steeds, who had to bear the brunt of the
warriors' energetic and ill-directed blows.

Another pair of youngsters were belabouring each other with
boxing-gloves, amidst the plaudits of the junior sub. and the
assistant clerk; while a tug-of-war, boys versus girls, afforded vast
amusement for the rest of the small guests and their hosts.

In order to make sure that the engineer sub-lieutenant was not
"pulling his leg," Tressidar went below to the ship's office. Here he
found that the information concerning Eric was correct. He had been
sent ashore with a party of marines to bring back sacks of coin for
the ship's safe.

Upon returning to the quarter-deck the sub. found Mr. Greenwood in
animated conversation with the commander on the subject of the raid
upon the petrol-depôt. Now was Ronald's opportunity.

"Would you care to look over the ship, Doris?" he said. "I can spare
half an hour."

"Only half an hour?" asked the girl. "We can't see very much in the
time, can we?"

"I suppose not," admitted Tressidar. "But let's make the best of our
time. I have to go away in the duty steamboat at a quarter to four.
We have to fetch a lighter alongside from Inchbrail--that's three
miles up the firth."

"I wish I could go with you," declared Doris. "I simply love little
steamboats. They are much more exciting than big cruisers lying at
anchor. Couldn't I?"

"Must see what the commander says," replied the sub. "Of course I'd
be delighted. Only I'm afraid you'll miss your tea. They're making a
scrumptious spread in the wardroom."

"I don't mind," said the girl recklessly. "I generally have tea at
least once every day, but not the chance of having a trip in a
steamboat."

Doris was certainly a hustler, for in less than the stipulated
half-hour they had climbed the lofty navigation-bridge, peeped
inside the conning-tower, soiled her gloves in the for'ard turret,
and had explored the now deserted mess-decks. It took all the
resource at Tressidar's command to persuade her to decline the
engineer sub-lieutenant's invitation to descend to the engine-room.
Only by hinting that if she did so she would be too late for the
proposed run in the duty steamboat did Ronald succeed in "choking
off" his super-attentive messmate.

"Miss Greenwood wishes to have a run in the D.S.B., sir," announced
the sub., saluting the commander, who was still engaged in
conversation with Greenwood, Senior.

"Very good," replied the commander. "Only be as sharp as you can. We
want the lighter secured well before dark."

"I suppose, Mr. Greenwood, you wouldn't like a trip, too," asked
Tressidar in duty bound, although inwardly hoping that this part of
his invitation would be declined.

"No, thanks," was the reply. "To tell the truth, I'm feeling
considerably stiff. Bad enough climbing to last me for at least a
month. By the bye, do you know if Eric found my umbrella?"

Tressidar delighted his questioner by replying that Eric had
recovered the lost property, but he hadn't the courage to continue
the story. The A.P. had brought the thing on board. Examination
showed that the handle had been "sprung," the silk ripped in three
places, the wires bent, and, generally, damaged by salt water. So
Eric had handed it over to the carpenter's crew for repairs and
renovation. The men did the job not neatly, but too well. The silk
they had patched with waxed seaming twine, re-waterproofing it by a
liberal application of soft soap and linseed oil This was the outcome
of a consultation of the naval recipe book; but since there was no
mention of how to waterproof silk, they had adopted the process laid
down for waterproofing canvas. The handle they repaired by
"parcelling and serving" the fracture and concealing the tarred
marline under a long gunmetal tube. The remaining visible portion of
the handle they scraped and varnished.

The A.P. could not quite make out whether the "repairs" had been
effected as a joke or in real earnest. At all events he quickly
settled the matter by dropping the "game" out of a scuttle,
intending to lead his parent to believe that the prized umbrella had
been lost on that momentous night. And now Tressidar had unwittingly
let the cat out of the bag.

The duty boat was fretting alongside the accommodation-ladder.
Punctual to a minute Sub-lieutenant Tressidar boarded her and
assisted Doris into the stern-sheets. From a manhole in the flat
metal engine-room casing a leading-stoker's grimy head and shoulders
appeared, his curiosity excited at the appearance of the sub.'s
companion. He winked knowingly at the bowman and disappeared to his
cramped quarters below.

"Mr. Tressidar!" sang out the commander, leaning over the guard-rails
of the quarter-deck.

"Sir?"

"Stand by a minute. I want you to take a packet of correspondence to
the 'Velocity.'"

Some minutes elapsed before the article in question was handed down
to the boat. Bending and peering into the little cabin, Tressidar
noticed that it was already twelve minutes to four.

He nodded to the coxswain. The latter, ordering "Easy ahead," put
the helm over and the duty steamboat glided smoothly away from her
parent ship.

"You'll be jolly cold," remarked the sub. to the girl. "It's awfully
nippy, in spite of the protection afforded by the cabin top. Let me
help you into this oil-skin."

Doris accepted the offer, Ronald taking rather an unnecessary time in
assisting her into the voluminous yellow coat.

"That's all serene," he explained enthusiastically. "By Jove, Doris,
it suits you splendidly."

"It's certainly more useful than ornamental," said the girl, as a
shower of spray dashed up from the bows and drifted aft with a
hissing sound. "There was once----"

Her words were suddenly interrupted by a dull crash. Instinctively
the sub. and his companion glanced astern. A cloud of smoke partly
obscured the fore-part of the cruiser, as she reeled heavily to port
with the effect of a mortal blow.




CHAPTER VIII

SPY AND SUPER-SPY


"SHE'S torpedoed, sir!" exclaimed the coxswain as the "Pompey," after
slowly recovering herself again, listed until her main for'ard-deck
scuttles were awash.

"Hard-a-starboard!" ordered Tressidar. Then under his breath he
added, "And those poor little kids on board."

Slowly the pall of smoke dispersed. Outwardly the cruiser showed no
signs of her injuries. Swarms of seamen were strenuously engaged in
lowering a collision-mat over the hole well beneath the water-line.
Others were swinging out the boats.

The "Pompey" was doomed: not by the result of a hostile torpedo, but
by an internal explosion. Stoker Jorkler's plot had succeeded,
although not to the full extent that he had expected. The detonator
had blown a large hole in the wing-plates, but fortunately the
explosion had not communicated itself to the forward magazine. Had it
done so, the end of the cruiser would have been sudden and complete:
not one soul on board would have escaped.

Aft, although the shock of the explosion was distinctly felt, the
effect was at first hardly noticeable. Amongst the visitors there was
not the slightest trace of panic; in fact, it was with great
difficulty that the gunroom officers' could prevail upon their
youthful guests to abandon their play and go on deck. Promptly orders
had been given to flood the magazines, thus preventing further danger
in that direction.

Skilfully the duty boat was brought alongside the stricken cruiser,
while almost at the same moment the pulling-boat containing Eric
Greenwood and the money-bags rounded the ship's stern.

Assisted by brawny arms, the ladies and children were taken down the
accommodation-ladder, the lower platform of which was now three feet
under water, and placed in the boats. With full complements the
steamboat and the one in which the A.P. was on duty pushed off,
slowing down when at a safe distance to await developments.

Other assistance was speedily at hand. Since the cruiser's heavy
boats could not be hoisted out in time and those in davits were
insufficient for the officers and crew, it was as well that the
"Pompey" was within easy reach of other vessels.

A dozen or more badly injured men were the next to be taken off;
then, with the utmost precision and discipline, the rest of the crew
gained the boats, but not before the collision-mat party for'ard were
up to their knees in water.

Clouds of steam issued from the boiler- and engine-rooms, while at
intervals muffled explosions of compressed air showed that the
water-tight doors, already strained by the explosion, were unable to
withstand the terrific pressure of the inflowing sea.

Captain Raxworthy, true to the time-honoured traditions of the
service, was the last to quit the doomed ship. Barely had the boat
into which he had jumped pushed off a dozen lengths when the huge
vessel, shivering like a living creature, turned completely on her
beam ends.

For some moments she remained thus, then, heeling still more until
her topmasts touched the bed of the harbour, she disappeared from
sight, with the exception of one end of her navigation-bridge that
still projected a couple of feet above the surface.

As soon as the men landed they were formed up and mustered by
divisions. The result of the roll-call showed that nineteen men were
missing, and in addition to the dozen seriously injured, thirty men
required surgical treatment. Amongst those missing was Stoker James
Jorkler.

And when the liberty men returned it was informed that one man had
"run." The absentee was reported under the name of Stoker Flanaghan.

In a clump of gaunt pine-trees, halfway up the summit of Ben
Craich--the loftiest of the hills in the vicinity of Auldhaig
Firth--stood the man hitherto known as Rhino Jorkler.

It is hardly necessary to remark that he was not a Canadian-born
British subject. He was a German-American, his real name being Otto
Oberfurst. By profession, previous to the outbreak of war, he was a
mining-engineer, since then he had been a Secret Service agent in the
employ of the German Government.

At first he was engaged in minor activities, under the direction of
the notorious Boy Ed, but his zeal so impressed his employer that
before long he was entrusted with a desperate mission in the Province
of Quebec. Succeeding, he was handsomely rewarded out of the huge
sums lavished by the German Government upon the questionable Secret
Service and given an opportunity of transferring his activities to
Great Britain.

Much as he preferred to work single-handed, he was ordered to report
himself to a certain von Schenck, a director of the Teutonic
espionage system that prevails in the United Kingdom.

Von Schenck had been, with the exception of periodical visits to
Germany, resident in Great Britain for nearly thirty years. At sixty
his powers of intellect were undimmed, and since success in espionage
depends more upon wits than upon bodily strength and activity, his
physical infirmities aided rather than embarrassed his sinister work.

He was of small stature, waxen-featured and grey-haired. He could
speak English with a fluency that was faultless enough to take him
anywhere without arousing suspicion. From other spies' experiences he
knew that a precise regard for the intricate rules of English grammar
was frequently a trap. Living unostentatiously in a small house on
the outskirts of Edinburgh, he posed as a retired merchant under the
assumed name of Andrew McJeames.

With few exceptions von Schenck knew none of his vast army of spies
by name, nor did they know of his identity. They were merely
numbers--pawns in the great game of espionage played according to the
rules and regulations of the degenerate Hun. In a few cases, however,
the master spy was personally acquainted with his immediate
subordinates, and amongst these was Otto Oberfurst.

It was at von Schenck's instigation that Oberfurst joined the British
Navy at Portsmouth. He reckoned on the enormous odds of the newly
enlisted stoker being promptly drafted to a vessel in the North Sea.
By joining at the Hampshire naval port, less suspicion would be
likely to be aroused than if he had entered the service at Rosyth or
Cromarty.

Von Schenck was a keen motorist. For miles around the Scottish
capital his powerful Mercédès car was known. His kindness in
placing himself and his motor at the disposal of a certain military
hospital was merely a cloak for a twofold purpose. It gave him an
excuse to use the car, in spite of the half-hearted requests from the
Government backed by a firm appeal from the Royal Automobile Club; it
also enabled him to pick up valuable information from the wounded
Tommies, whose pardonable desire to relate their adventures often led
them to overrun their discretion. He made a point of never asking a
question on service matters of his guests. He relied upon his skill
in leading up to any particular subject of which he required
information, and sooner or later his wishes were gratified. Within
forty-eight hours the information was in the hands of the German
Admiralty.

From his place of concealment Otto Oberfurst sat and waited while the
lengthening shadows betokened the approach of another night. At
frequent intervals he consulted his watch. It was almost identical
with the one he had left in the double bottom of the "Pompey."

Occasionally he directed his attention to the dark brown ribbon that
marked the position of the main road leading to Auldhaig, but his
gaze was chiefly concentrated upon the land-locked harbour. The
"Pompey," lying on the extreme west of the line of moorings, was
plainly visible. To all outward appearances she looked to be the
embodiment of armed security, protected as she was by triple lines of
anti-submarine devices that barred the entrance to the firth. In
addition to the numerous warships, ranging from large armoured
cruisers down to the swift, well-armed craft of the destroyer
flotilla, the harbour was protected by four distinct anti-aircraft
batteries armed with the very latest type of guns. The positions of
these concealed batteries the spy knew with startling accuracy. He
also knew that a short distance inland from Auldhaig, and situated in
a remote and naturally sheltered valley, was the important munition
factory of Sauchieblair. Three times had German aircraft sought to
discover the exact position of these immense works. On the last
occasion bombs had missed the main cordite factory by two hundred
yards; but that was more by good luck than good judgment, for never
in the course of their flight over the Scottish coast had they been
absolutely certain of their bearings.

Four o'clock. Otto Oberfurst, his hands shaking in spite of his
strong nerve, awaited the result of his treacherous handiwork.
Ten--twenty--thirty seconds passed, but still no terrific explosion
that would rend the cruiser from stem to stern. A wave of horrible
uncertainty swept over him. Perhaps suspicion had been aroused and
the double bottom had been searched; or a flaw in the intricate
mechanism of the timing-gear had prevented the deliberate
catastrophe. In either case the failure would be of grave
consequences to the German Secret Service plans. The actual proof
that an attempt had been made to destroy a warship by internal
explosion would make it advisable to discontinue activities in that
direction. So long as the British attributed similar disasters to
accident, well and good. They could set forth as many theories as
they liked, provided that the real reason was known only to von
Schenck and his associates.

Suddenly Oberfurst's cogitations were interrupted by the sight of a
cloud of smoke leaping skywards from the cruiser. Four seconds later
the muffled boom of the explosion was borne to his ears. He could see
the vessel listing, but to his intense disappointment she showed no
signs of being blown to pieces.

"Himmel!" he muttered. "It is not the magazine this time. I must have
miscalculated its position. No matter, another English ship is out of
action. Better luck next time!"

He waited until the "Pompey" had disappeared from view beneath the
waters of Auldhaig Harbour, then, walking rapidly, he followed a
mountain path leading away from the town.

Darkness had fallen when he arrived at a small stone cottage situated
in a remote glen. With the ease of a man who was familiar with his
surroundings, Oberfurst climbed the stile in the wall enclosing the
garden, threaded his way along the winding path, and, avoiding an
invisible obstruction in the form of an iron pig-trough, tapped
softly upon the window-pane.

"Who's there?" inquired a high-pitched voice.

"All right, mother," replied the spy reassuringly.

Without further delay the door was unbarred and Oberfurst entered the
cottage.

"I've run," he declared. "Couldn't stick it any longer."

"Eh?" The old woman eyed him sharply. "What's wrong now?"

"Mother" Taggach, the occupier of the cottage, was a shrivelled-up
woman of seventy. She was an illicit distiller of whisky and a
receiver of stolen property. The former occupation she plied in this
remote cottage; the latter was carried on in a small shop in the
outskirts of Edinburgh, where her son kept a marine store. Her minor
activities consisted in assisting naval and military deserters,
although since the war there was little call for her assistance in
that direction. The few "bad hats" of the fleet at Auldhaig soon
found out that at Mother Taggach's there were facilities for spending
leave with the possibilities of obtaining spirits which, owing to the
stringent regulations, were denied them in the town.

Stoker Jorkler was one of her patrons, but Mother Taggach, in spite
of her failings, was a strong anti-German. Not for one moment did she
suspect the true character of the spy.

"Yes," he continued in answer to her questions. "I've run--deserted.
Nerves all gone."

"A pretty sailor you make," remarked the old woman witheringly. "So
you want me to fix you up? It's very risky, you know."

"Very," agreed Oberfurst. "But if I'm nabbed I won't peach. Let's
have a suit of civilian togs and before morning I'll be miles away."

"Five pounds, then," demanded Mother Taggach.

The spy produced the money. The old woman carefully counted and
examined the notes, then from a wooden box she drew a bundle of
clothes.

"There you are," she said. "Get along upstairs. You'd best be clear
of my house in less than ten minutes."

Quickly Oberfurst effected the change. Beyond wearing civilian garb
he made no attempt to disguise himself.

"Here's my old gear," he said, handing the woman a bundle containing
his uniform.

"All right, I'll burn them," she remarked. "Though 'tis a waste of
good stuff. Where might you be making for, might I ask?"

"Wick," he replied. "I've got a pal there."

He went out into the night and walked quickly until he approached the
spot where the mountain path struck the highway running parallel with
the east coast. Here he sat down, and from his pocket produced a
razor and a piece of soap. In very short time he had shaved the top
of his head and his eyebrows, while in place of his smooth chin he
sported a greyish beard that would escape detection except under
critical inspection. Then, instead of turning northward--for he had
deliberately misinformed Mother Taggach--he set his face to the south
and tramped briskly in the direction of far-distant Edinburgh.




CHAPTER IX

AN ADVENTURE ON THE HILLS


"I WISH to goodness that sister of mine wouldn't do such erratic
things," remarked Eric Greenwood.

"Oh!" rejoined Tressidar, with a veiled attempt at inconsequence.
"What has she been up to now?"

The conversation occurred two days after the loss of H.M.S. "Pompey."
The officers and men of the destroyed cruiser were temporarily
berthed in a hulk that had been towed round from Chatham some months
previously for use as a depôt-ship.

Mr. Greenwood had returned to Devonshire, declaring that the east
coast of Scotland was a little too lively for a man of his mature
years and sedentary habits. Doris, of course, remained at the
Auldhaig sick-quarters.

"Going for lonely walks when she's off duty," explained the A.P. "Why
on earth she doesn't get one of the nursing sisters to go with her I
cannot imagine. When I proposed to accompany her, she promptly choked
me off. This afternoon, she tells me, she's taking the train as far
as Nedderburn, and is going to tramp back over the hills. From all
accounts it's a rotten, unfrequented road."

"It is," agreed the sub.

"Yes," added Eric. "And I would insist upon going with her, in spite
of her objections, only I am booked for the preliminary inquiry at
the Senior's Officer's quarters. That's the penalty for keeping one's
shorthand up."

Ronald Tressidar kept his plans to himself, but one of the first
things he did was to consult a railway time-table. In it he found
that the earliest train the girl could take was at 2.45 p.m. That
meant that she would probably set out on her return at a quarter past
three, since Nedderburn was only nine miles from Auldhaig and the
railway journey took twenty minutes.

His next step, immediately after lunch, was to go ashore and pay a
visit to the local garage.

"Sorry, sir," replied the proprietor in answer to the sub.'s request
for the hire of a two-seater car. "I've nae ain in the place; but I
hae a bonnie leetle motor-cycle and side-car."

"Suppose that will have to do," said Tressidar dubiously. "She'll
take the hills all right, I hope?"

Receiving an affirmative reply, the sub. concluded negotiations for
the hire of the unaccustomed mount, but before he was clear of the
town he found that he had something fairly powerful under his control
and also something that was not so very difficult to steer.

For the first two miles the road skirted the northern shore of the
firth, then ascending a steep hill by means of a series of
well-engineered zig-zags, it swept across a bleak upland. For the
most part the country on either side consisted of sheep-pasture,
rough stone walls taking the place of the hedges so common in the
south. Here and there were thick clusters of gorse, growing to a
height of nearly six feet. There were also clumps of gaunt pines that
swayed mournfully in the stiff breeze.

After a while the road began to descend with a long, easy gradient.
Away on his right he could just discern the galvanised iron roofs and
tall brick chimneys of the Sauchieblair Munition Works. It was only
from this part of the road that any distant view could be obtained of
the magazines without climbing any of the surrounding hills. Just
beyond this spot was a fairly extensive wood.

"I'll bring up here and have a pipe," thought the sub. "I am in
plenty of time, and it's only a few miles to Nedderburn."

Leaving the cycle and side-car, he paced up and down the road, for
the air was much too keen to stand still. Then, having assured
himself that there was plenty of petrol in the tank--experience had
taught him that there are such things as leaking carburetters and
petrol pipes--he restarted.

Less than a mile from the outskirts of the little village of
Nedderburn he espied a trim figure walking briskly in his direction.
It was Doris Greenwood.

Presently Tressidar's fears gripped him.

"Hang it!" he soliloquised. "What possible excuse can I have for
coming out here?"

With a motor-cycle travelling at twenty miles an hour there is little
time to decide upon any matter, but by the time the sub. slowed down
he had framed some sort of excuse which might or might not hold
water.

"Hulloa, Doris!" he exclaimed in well-simulated surprise. "Whatever
are you doing in this unfrequented road?"

"Merely walking for exercise," she replied.

"To Auldhaig? It's a long way. Can I give you a lift?"

"Why, you are going in exactly the opposite direction," declared the
girl laughingly. "And to find you riding with an empty side-car,
Ronald. Now, what does it mean?"

"I'll deal with your question," replied Tressidar, striving to gain
time to find a suitable explanation to meet her previous remark. "I
couldn't hire a car and I can't ride a motorbike solo, so I had to
hire the side-car to keep me balanced. It's quite true that I was
going in the wrong direction, but there's no reason why I shouldn't
turn the affair round."

"If you are riding with a set purpose," continued Doris
remorselessly, "I wouldn't think of detaining you. You evidently are
making for somewhere."

"Yes, I am," admitted Tressidar boldly. "I came along here to meet
you. It's no use mincing matters. Look here, what do you say to a run
out as far as Tuilaburn? It's only seven miles further, and the road
across the moors is simply top-hole. We'll be back at Auldhaig well
before lighting-up time."

Doris assented. She was not one of those irresponsible young ladies
who coyly pretend not to be able to make up their minds. She really
admired the tall, bronzed naval officer who had handled the duty
steamboat so magnificently in going to the aid of the doomed
"Pompey." It was not without ulterior motives, which were now being
realised, that she had "choked off" her rather too attentive brother.

Before the girl took her place in the car Ronald assisted her to don
his oilskin coat--the same that she had worn on that memorable trip
in Auldhaig Harbour. It formed an ideal protection from the biting
wind.

Almost before they were aware of it, they ran into Tuilaburn. Here
they had tea and talked--of many things. It was close upon
lighting-up time when the return journey began.

"By Jove! the little engine does pull well," remarked Tressidar as
the motor-cycle ascended the long gradual rise out of Nedderburn.
"We'll be in Auldhaig before it's time to light up, you see if we
won't."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when, with an ominous
succession of bumps, the back tyre punctured.

"The result of boasting," declared Doris cheerfully, as the sub.
dismounted and examined the outer cover.

"A nail," he announced. "That's good. It will save me from searching
for a small puncture. I'll mend the inner tube in less than ten
minutes."

Once again his optimism was at fault, for the cover was an obstinate
one to remove. The tube, a butted one, was then patched and replaced.
By the time they were ready to resume their journey it was
lighting-up time.

For nearly ten minutes Tressidar attempted to get the head-light to
burn. It stubbornly refused duty. Examination showed that the carbide
was already saturated and useless for illumination.

"We'll risk it," declared the sub. "It's a hundred to one chance that
we meet anyone on this unfrequented road, especially a policeman."

"I should not like to see our names figure in a police-court report,"
remarked Doris.

"No; but they might appear in a very different sort of document,"
added Tressidar boldly.

Doris made no reply. It was now too dark for her companion to notice
the expression on her face. Vaguely he wondered whether he had
bungled again.

"What's that glare over there?" asked the girl as they emerged from a
little wood on the crest of the hill.

"Only the munition works at Sauchieblair," replied Tressidar. "It's
rather strange that a Government factory should show such an amount
of light."

"It's out," exclaimed Doris ten seconds later. "What does that
mean--a Zepp. warning?"

"Shouldn't wonder," answered her companion. "It's just the sort of
night--dark and practically no wind.... Oh, bother!"

The back tyre was again bumping on the ground.

"I vote we abandon ship," suggested Tressidar. "We'll push the thing
just off the road and walk the rest of the way. I'll tell the man to
send for it in the morning, Hope you don't mind the tramp, Doris?"

They alighted. Tressidar was in the act of urging the heavy
motor-cycle upon the slight rise by the roadside when with a rush and
subdued roar a powerful motor-car with obscured lights flashed by.
Well it was that the cycle was clear, otherwise there was every
possibility of its being run down by the reckless road-hogs.

"Three red lights," exclaimed Doris, indicating the rear lights of the
disappearing motor. "That's rather unusual."

"There's no law against a fellow having as many red rear lights as he
wants so far as I know," said Tressidar. "It's certainly unusual. I
say, I believe the car's stopping. Let's get them to give us a lift
into Auldhaig."

The motor was now on a slight rise almost four hundred yards from the
spot where the motor-cycle had been abandoned. It displayed three red
lights vertically.

Before the sub. and his companion had walked more than twenty yards
the three lights were increased by three more, so that there was a
vertical string of six. At the same time the car was being backed
from the side of the road on to the sward.

"Doris," exclaimed Ronald hurriedly, "will you stay here a little
while?--do you mind? I'm going to see what those fellows are up to.
It looks jolly fishy. You're not nervous?"

"Not a little bit," declared the girl. "Only take care of yourself."

"I'll try," rejoined the sub. "Don't make a sound. If--that is,
supposing I don't come back, you had better make your way to
Nedderburn and telephone to the senior officer of Auldhaig; but I
fancy that there'll be no need for that."

Taking to the grass, Tressidar stole cautiously in the direction of
the stationary car. His footsteps made no sound upon the springy
turf. As he approached he bent low, taking advantage of the cover
afforded by the numerous gorse bushes.

"So that's your little game," he mused. There were two men with the
car. One, by the aid of the partly screened head-lamp, was consulting
what was evidently a prismatic compass. The other, acting according
to the movements of his companion's hand, was slowly shifting the car
in its own length.

The mystery of the six red lights was now no longer a mystery. To the
sub.'s keen intelligence the whole thing was as clear as daylight.
The lid of the tool-box at the rear of the car had been partly raised
until it formed an angle of 135 degrees with the back of the body.
The lid, being of burnished metal, served as a reflector, so that the
three red lights appeared to be six in a straight vertical line.

And that line pointed in the direction of the Sauchieblair Munition
Works.

"That will do," said a voice in German--a language of which Tressidar
had more than a general knowledge. "We're right on the exact bearing.
Call up Pfeiller and inform him that our position is fixed."

The fellow who had been engaged in manoeuvring the car stepped inside
the coupé. The faint cackle of a low-powered wireless apparatus was
faintly borne to the sub.'s ear.

"Pfeiller reports all right at his position," announced the man after
a brief interval.

"Let us hope he is sure on the point," remarked the German with the
compass.

"He is a careful man at that sort of work," said the other
reassuringly. "Now comes the worst part of the business--the waiting.
Himmel! I t is cold on these hills."

"If she picks up the coast lights without difficulty she ought to be
here by eight o'clock," said his companion. "These English have
already had warning. That is why they have turned out the lights. Can
you imagine them, friend Otto, cowering in darkness, waiting for one
of our incomparable Zeppelins to blow them to pieces? And there is
not even a puny, so-called anti-aircraft gun nearer than Auldhaig."

Ronald Tressidar had heard enough. His first impulse was to retrace
his steps quietly and make his way to Nedderburn to procure
assistance. But upon further consideration he came to the conclusion
that before the spies could be made prisoners the Zeppelin's work
might be accomplished. Prompt measures were necessary.

Creeping away to a safe distance, the sub. removed his heavy
great-coat. To have the unencumbered use of his limbs was essential
to the work he proposed attempting.

Again he stalked the two Germans. Unheard and unseen he gained the
remote side of the car, then working round the front he leapt upon
the nearmost of the spies.

Throwing his muscular arms round the fellow's head and applying his
knee to the small of his back, Tressidar hurled him heavily to the
ground. In falling, the fellow grabbed frantically at the sub.'s
ankles. The check was but momentary, but sufficient to put the second
Teuton on his guard.

Whipping out a pistol, he fired almost point-blank at the British
naval officer.

Whether he was hit or otherwise Tressidar did not pause to consider.
Bending low and hunching his shoulders, he charged the armed man, and
butting him in the chest sent him flying backwards a good five yards.
The pistol was jerked from his grip and fell in the centre of a
gorse-bush.

Carried onwards by the momentum of his furious charge, the sub.
tripped across the plunging limbs of his opponent and pitched
headlong on the ground.




CHAPTER X

THE FOILED RAID


BEFORE Tressidar could recover himself the second German gripped him
by the throat, at the same time shouting to his prostrate comrade to
bestir himself and find the pistol.

Although his opponent was a heavy, muscular man the British officer,
taken at a disadvantage, did not hesitate to attempt to equalise
matters. In spite of the pressure of the Hun's fingers on his
windpipe, he raised his knees and lashing out literally hurled the
German from him.

Agilely turning over, Tressidar sought to regain his feet, but as he
did so the fellow he had previously felled leapt upon his back,
striking him over and over again with his clenched fists; while the
other man, in spite of being temporarily winded, came again to the
attack.

In the midst of the desperate struggle Tressidar was most agreeably
surprised to hear a voice shouting, "Come on, men. Collar those
fellows."

The impending assistance caused the two Germans to take to their
heels. Without waiting to ascertain the numbers and strength of the
rescue party, they made off, leaving the car and various instruments
behind.

Tressidar regained his feet. He could discern the heavy tread of
approaching footsteps. He hastened to meet his rescuers, until sheer
astonishment brought him up "all standing." The rescue party
consisted of one person--Doris Greenwood.

"Are you hurt, Ronald?" she asked in an anxious whisper.

"No, I don't think so," replied Tressidar. "But why----? I thought I
told you to sheer off."

"It's not insubordination," said the girl. "You are not my superior
officer, you know. I heard the firing and the sound of men scuffling,
so I did my level best to imitate a man's voice, and at the same time
I stamped hard upon the ground. Have they gone?"

"Yes; but if they find out that you're only a girl--a jolly plucky
one, I must say--they may take it into their thick heads to renew the
attack. I'll find that pistol and be on the safe side."

While the sub. was searching for the lost weapon, Doris listened
intently.

"I cannot hear anything of them," she reported.

"That's rather a pity," said Tressidar, as he groped in the prickly
furze. "They may still be hanging round, waiting to stalk us.
Hurrah! I've found it."

His hand had come in contact with the barrel of the pistol. He
withdrew the firearm, to find that it was a powerful weapon of the
automatic type. Examination of the magazine revealed the fact that
there were seven unexpended cartridges.

"Where's your great-coat?" asked Doris.

"I left it down there," replied Tressidar, indicating the dim
outlines of the gorse-bushes on the other side of the road.

"You'll get a fearful cold without it. Go and get it," continued the
girl authoritatively. "We have no sympathy with patients at Auldhaig
Sick Quarters who get pneumonia through their own carelessness."

Tressidar laughed.

"I feel inclined to take the risk," he retorted. "But I suppose I'd
better obey your orders, even if you won't obey mine."

Holding the pistol in readiness for a surprise attack, the sub. stole
cautiously to the place where he had left his great-coat. Without
interruption he regained his property and rejoined his companion,
then he listened intently. Not a sound broke the stillness of the
night.

"Well, we've had to abandon a motor-cycle and side-car and we have a
gorgeous motor-car in exchange," said Tressidar. "I say, I hope you
are not in a great hurry?"

"Of course not," replied Doris with surprise at the question.
"Nursing sisters are not required to be back before nine."

"It may be long after nine," said the sub. seriously. "Stand by while
I shift this car. I'll tell you why presently."

The motor-car being on a slight gradient was fairly easy to move even
without starting the engine.

"Why, you haven't moved it half a yard," exclaimed Doris

"Precisely. That is all that is necessary just at present. Now let me
explain. These fellows were expecting a Zeppelin. It's on its way, I
believe, but there's little or no danger for us, I may say.
Somewhere--in what direction or how far away I don't know--is another
car, showing, I presume, a string of red lights like this beauty.
Viewed from an airship, there will be two lines of red lights
visible. These, if continued indefinitely, will intersect at a
certain spot. There the Zepp. is to drop her bombs; and the desired
place is Sauchieblair Munition Factory. Unfortunately I cannot alter
both bearings, but by clewing this car round a few feet the point of
intersection will be altered at least a couple of hundred yards. I
hope it will be four or five hundred, but it won't do to alter the
bearing too much in case it doesn't cross the other one."

"And then?"

"We must wait until the Zepp. has come and gone. If we abandon our
post our Germans may return and readjust the position of the car.
Hulloa! what's that? There's some one coming. Just get into the car,
Doris. It's a pretty substantial affair, unless I'm much mistaken."

Doris obeyed without demur. Tressidar, with his pistol ready for
instant action, crouched behind the body of the car.

Evidently some harmless individual was approaching. They could hear
footsteps crunching on the hard gravel road, but still, the sub.
could afford to take no risks of a treacherous onslaught.

"Halt!" shouted Tressidar as the man came within ten paces. "Who are
you? What are you doing here?"

The stranger, a big, hulking fellow, halted promptly enough, and in
broad Scotch declared that he was only a shepherd on his way home.

"And I'm a naval officer," announced the sub. "I call upon you in the
King's name to render assistance. Is your sight good? Can you hear
well?"

Receiving a disjointed affirmative reply from the almost dumfounded
shepherd, Tressidar continued:

"That's capital. Now, I want you to stand here and keep a bright
look-out. There are two suspicious characters knocking about. They
are not armed--at least, with firearms, for I've taken the only
pistol they possessed. Directly you spot them--that is, if they make
up their minds to come back--let me know as quietly as possible. Eh,
what's that? You hope they do? Good man! You are a tough customer to
tackle with that heavy stick of yours."

The Scotsman, a brawny specimen in spite of his years, for he was
nearly sixty, nodded his head with a confidence that assured the sub.
of a reliable and energetic ally. Leaving him at his post, Tressidar
returned to the car.

"I fancy I heard firing," he remarked.

"Yes," agreed Doris. "I saw flashes. See, there they are again."

She pointed away to the south-east. The crests of the distant hills
were silhouetted against a succession of pale flashes and the glare
of half a dozen searchlights, while the low rumble of a series of
explosions could just be distinguished.

Then the flashes ceased, although the giant beams still searched the
sky--and searched in vain. The huge target presented by the Zeppelin
had been lost to sight.

"There's something overhead," declared Tressidar. "It's an aerial
propeller, but for a Zepp. it's very subdued. You're not nervous,
Doris?"

The girl smiled.

"Being nervous wouldn't be of any use, so I must be brave," she
replied. "As a matter of fact I am rather enjoying the experience. Do
you think----"

A lurid flash and terrific crash, the sound appearing to emanate from
a spot within a hundred yards from where they waited, interrupted her
words. The flash was followed by two others in quick succession, and
then a perfect hail of high-explosive bombs. The Zepp. was hurling
down missiles as fast as she could from a height of less than two
thousand feet upon what her commander took to be the Sauchieblair
Munition Works. In point of actual fact the bombs were dropping,
thanks to Tressidar's resourcefulness in altering the position of the
leading lights, on the grassland full a mile from the Huns'
particular objective.

For nearly twenty minutes the futile operation of bomb-dropping
continued. Once or twice the sub. turned to look at the shepherd. The
man was gazing stolidly into the darkness with his back turned upon
the German firework display. He had been set a particular task and
whole-heartedly he was carrying it out.

At length, as if suspecting that they were being tricked, the crew of
the Zeppelin ceased hurling explosives. They switched on two powerful
searchlights, which, playing in an almost vertically downward
direction, swept the ground in order to discover the magazine
buildings. To do so the airship had dropped to less than a thousand
feet.

"They'll find the place, I'm afraid," thought Tressidar. "If only our
people had even a couple of anti-aircraft guns----"

The shepherd touched his arm and pointed down the road in the
direction of Auldhaig. Approaching at a furious rate, their presence
only apparent by the noise they made, were several motor-cars armed
with quick-firers on vertical mountings. Others, with travelling
searchlight projectors, accompanied them. The lights were temporarily
screened, since the position of the hostile airship could be fixed by
the fact that she was playing her searchlights upon the ground.

The mobile quick-firers made no attempt to get into action until the
cars were almost abreast of the spot where Tressidar and his
companions were. Had they done so, the chances were that the falling
shrapnel bullets would do considerable damage to the lightly built
roofs of the munition works.

Suddenly six anti-aircraft guns opened fire simultaneously. The air
was torn with the shriek of the high-velocity projectiles and the
sharp reports of the weapons. The explosion of the shells threw a
blaze of light upon the silvery envelope of the gigantic
night-raider. It seemed as if it would be impossible for her to
escape the wide effect of the bursting projectiles.

Doris clasped her hands and waited, fully expecting that the huge
floating fabric would either burst into flame or drop, a crumpled
mass of metal, upon the ground.

The Zeppelin lurched. Her bow part tilted sharply downwards. Her
searchlights were switched off. At the same time the British
searchlights threw their concentrated beams upon their quarry. Smoke
was pouring from the hard-pressed airship, until her outlines were
hidden by the pall of vapour.

Then, to an accompaniment of a perfect tornado of exploding bombs for
the airship had hurriedly thrown out her remaining supply of
missiles, the Zeppelin shot vertically upwards with almost incredible
velocity. Growing smaller and smaller to the sightseers, it gradually
grew more and more indistinct, until the searchlight men were unable
to locate its position. The last seen of her was that she was
travelling slowly in a south-easterly direction.

"Hulloa! What the deuce have we got here?" inquired a deep, hearty
voice. "Car with a blaze of red lights, by Jove!"

Towards the Mercédès car strode a burly, great-coated figure in the
uniform of a lieutenant in the R.N. Air Service. Following him were
seven or eight men from the crews of the motor batteries.

"You have here a car belonging to a couple of German spies," said
Tressidar, advancing to meet the lieutenant.

"Nothing like being candid about the business," rejoined the latter
drily. "And who might you be?"

The sub. announced his name and rank.

"You have a lot to explain," said the Air Service officer. "There
have been cases of Germans masquerading in British uniforms, you
know. You must consider yourself under arrest."

Tressidar raised no objection. It was useless to do so. He realised
that, in the circumstances, the lieutenant was perfectly justified in
what he did. He only wondered how Doris would take it.

Greatly to his surprise he heard the girl laugh merrily.

"Good evening, Mr. Waynsford," she exclaimed.

The young lieutenant, completely taken aback, did not immediately
reply. Striding to the door of the car, he merely returned the
compliment and waited for Doris to continue.

"I can answer for Mr. Tressidar's loyalty," she continued. "You see,
Mr. Waynsford, we are stranded on the hills. We had to abandon a
motor-cycle and we found a motor-car. In fact, Mr. Tressidar captured
it. Now I think I'll let you continue the narrative, Ronald."

"By Jove!" ejaculated the lieutenant. "That was quite a 'cute move on
the part of the spies, Tressidar, and most smart on your part. I
believe we've winged that Zepp. Hulloa!"

A petty officer came up at the double. He was one of the men attached
to the portable wireless telegraphy car.

"The Zepp.'s reported flying low over Saltkirk, sir," he announced.
"She dropped one bomb on a cottage. Woman and four children blown to
bits. The airship was last seen making slowly to the east'ard."

"Very good," commented Waynsford. "We can do no more. Can you pilot
the captured car into Auldhaig, Tressidar?"

"Don't think I'd better risk it," replied the sub. "I'm not used to a
Mercédès. A British-built car is more my mark."

He had other reasons for declining to be his own prize-master. It
would not be fair to Doris to let her risk her life in a strange car
and on a rough, hilly road. On the other hand, he did not like the
idea of letting Lieutenant Waynsford have the pleasure of the girl's
company. Already he was a little jealous of the fellow, he decided.
How did Doris get to make his acquaintance during her as yet brief
stay at Auldhaig?

"All right, then," rejoined Waynsford. "I'll give you a lift in my
car, and get a couple of hands to run the Mercédès to Auldhaig.
'Fraid you'll find rather cramped quarters," he added, as he held
open the metal door in the armoured sides. "The shoulder-piece of the
quick-firer is awfully in the way."

A moment later the cars were jolting and swaying at forty miles an
hour along the road, barely slowing down as they tore through the
crowded streets of Auldhaig, for the Zepp. had brought men, women,
and children from the houses, all eager to hear of the work done by
the anti-aircraft guns.

In this they were disappointed. The gunners, modest when it came to
relating their own deeds, were not inclined to give particulars,
especially as they were not definitely certain as to whether the
Zepp. was crippled.

Having escorted Doris to the gates of the hospital, Tressidar bade
her a hasty farewell and hurried towards the harbour. He had already
outstayed his leave, and although the extenuating circumstances
warranted the breach of discipline, he was anxious to know what was
being done afloat. It was now close upon ten o'clock. At ten-thirty
he was to go on duty in the guard-boat, which at Auldhaig was the
"harbour service" torpedo-boat No. 445, an antiquated craft but quite
good enough for the work allotted to her.

Auldhaig Harbour was now comparatively empty. The armoured cruisers
had left during the afternoon to rendezvous off the Isle of May; the
destroyers had gone to relieve the outer patrol in the Firth of
Forth, and the "opposite numbers" had not yet returned to the base.
The only vessels left were a couple of light cruisers undergoing
refit, four torpedo-boats, and a couple of large fleet auxiliaries.

By this time the steam pinnace had taken the sub. off to the hulk in
which the ship's company of the ill-fated "Pompey" were quartered.
Tressidar was only just able to snatch a hasty meal before the
torpedo-boat was ready to cast off.

Thanking his lucky stars that it was a fine night, although bitterly
cold, Tressidar gained the deck of the waiting craft. As he did so
the officer of the watch came to the side of the hulk and leant over.

"Message just come through, Mr. Tressidar," he exclaimed. "Zeppelin
reported down about fifteen miles south-east of Dunletter Head. All
available craft ordered to proceed and investigate. Good luck!"




CHAPTER XI

ONE ZEPPELIN THE LESS


TORPEDO-BOAT No. 445 easily led the procession of small fry. Her
speed, a bare twenty knots, was a good two miles an hour more than
the rest of the torpedo-boats, while she could give points to the
swiftest of the armed trawlers that lumbered in the wake of the rest
of the flotilla.

Tressidar stood on a little platform abaft the low conning-tower. He
had plenty to do, for the intricate directions as to the course could
be adhered to only by a series of careful cross-bearings and
observations. A line of hostile mines had been reported off the
coast, and already a passage had been cleared by the sweepers.
Therein lay a great risk, for although the channel had been reported
clear, there was always the possibility of a mine escaping the means
employed to rid the sea of these sinister objects, while cases have
arisen of a derelict mine being found in a spot that had been
reported free only an hour previously.

The officers and crew of No. 445 knew the danger and met it with
equanimity. The lightly-built, single-skinned hull of the
torpedo-boat would be literally pulverised should she bump against a
mine. The concussion would undoubtedly send the frail craft to the
bottom like a stone, and those of the crew who survived the explosion
would be unable to withstand the piercing coldness of the water. With
them, familiarity did not breed contempt; it was merely a matter of
indifference. With unseen perils surrounding them, the iron-nerved
men were as cool as if the little craft were on a trial run during
the piping times of peace.

Ahead the double flash of Dunletter Head lighthouse winked knowingly.
It was one of those beacons whose usefulness, nay indispensability,
to friendly crafts more than outweighed the service it might render
to hostile craft. The absence of those well-known flashes, even for a
couple of hours, might result in half a dozen wrecks upon the
dangerous Dunletter reefs that thrust their jagged and submerged
fangs nearly half a mile seaward from the frowning promontory.

"Starboard your helm," ordered the sub.

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the quartermaster.

Almost on her heel the torpedo-boat swung round. It had reached the
limit of a discovered mine-field, and was now free to stand seawards.
She, like her consorts, showed no lights. Only a ruddy glare from the
funnels of a badly stoked furnace betrayed the presence of one of the
flotilla, now a couple of miles on the port quarter. For two tedious
hours the boats searched the sea within ten miles of the position in
which the Zeppelin was reported. Although searchlights were brought
to bear upon the waves, nothing resulted. Apparently the airship had
foundered.

Suddenly an idea flashed across Tressidar's mind.

"I'll try it," he thought, and gave an order for the engines to be
stopped.

When No. 445 lost way he made tests to ascertain the true direction
of the wind. Although it was almost calm when he left Auldhaig, the
sub. made the discovery that there was a steady draught from the
south-west. He also knew that for the last four hours the tide had
been making northwards.

A water-borne Zeppelin, he argued, was to a greater extent under the
influence of the wind, and to a lesser extent of that of the tide,
although that depended largely upon the area of the submerged portion
of the huge fabric. Allowing the airship to have been drifting for
four hours, by this time she must be at least sixteen miles from the
spot where she dropped, unless in the meanwhile she had sunk.

Accordingly TB 445 made off in a north-easterly direction, the sub.
sweeping the sea with his night-glasses with the air of a man who
subconsciously feels convinced that his efforts will meet with
success.

Shortly after two in the morning a slight mist, accompanied by cold
rain and sleet, rendered the searchers' task a most difficult one.
Speed was reduced to fifteen knots, and the look-outs doubled, since
the little craft was now in the waters frequented by the north-east
of Scotland fishing-boats.

"Light on the port-bow, sir," reported one of the crew, as the feeble
glimmer of a masthead and port lights loomed through the mirk.

Tressidar telegraphed for "easy ahead," then "stop," at the same time
ordering the helm to be starboarded in order to approach the strange
craft.

"They're making a deuce of a noise," he soliloquised, as the murmur
of a babel of voices was wafted through the night.

Even as he looked the sub. discovered that the beams of the vessel's
masthead light were playing upon an immense indistinct mass lying
apparently a cable's length to windward. The mass was the envelope of
the Zeppelin.

Ordering both searchlights to be unscreened and played upon the
airship, Tressidar had the torpedo-boat manoeuvred so that the
trawler,--for such she proved to be--bore slightly on the starboard
quarter. At the same time the three 3-pounders were trained upon the
Zeppelin.

"I wonder if the Huns have collared that craft," thought Tressidar.
"It looks jolly fishy."

"Ahoy!" hailed one of the torpedo-boat's men. "What craft is that?"

"Drifter 'Laughing Lassie' of Peterhead," was the reply with an
unmistakable Scottish accent.

"Then what are you doing here?" shouted the sub.

"The Zepp.'s right across our nets," announced the master of the
drifter. "We aren't going to cut them adrift for a dozen strafed
Zepps. They want us to take them aboard, but we just won't."

The fishing-craft was steaming slowly ahead, just sufficient to keep
a slight strain upon her nets. The rear gondola of the Zeppelin,
dipping beneath the surface, had fouled them, and at the same time
the airship was prevented from drifting further to leeward.

Taking care to avoid the nets, for there was a danger of the
torpedo-boat's propeller becoming entangled in the meshes of tarred
line, Tressidar brought his command slightly to windward of the
crippled German airship.

With the exception of the after part she was floating buoyantly,
stern to wind. On the platform on the upper side of the envelope were
about a dozen of her officers and crew. Others were standing on the
light, railed-in gangway connecting the foremost cabin with the
midship gondola. Shown up by the glare of the searchlights were
several jagged holes in the envelope, caused by fragments of shells
from the guns of the anti-aircraft service cars.


[Illustration: "WITH THE QUICK-FIRERS TRAINED UPON THE BULKY TARGET,
NO. 445 APPROACHED WITHIN HAILING DISTANCE"]


"Think she'll fight, Bill?" the sub. heard a seaman enquire of his
chum.

"Wish to heaven she would," replied the man. "We'd make it hot for
them. But they won't, the brutes. They never do when they're
cornered."

The speaker was in ordinary circumstances a steady, well-conducted
seaman-gunner, who bore testimony to his humanity in the form of a
silver medal from the Royal Humane Society for saving life under most
hazardous conditions. Yet, without the slightest compunction, he
would have sent a shell crashing into the inflammable gases of the
Zepp.'s envelope. The mental vision of that ruined cottage with the
slaughtered woman and her children had hardened his heart.

It was with almost similar sentiments that Tressidar hoped the
Germans would put up a fight. With their superior armament they stood
a chance of sending the little torpedo-boat to the bottom, or at any
rate sweeping her decks with a murderous fire from her numerous
machine guns.

She did neither. Instead, a man exhibited a large white flag, while
the rest of the crew stood with folded arms, displaying a complete
confidence in the willingness of the British seamen to save them from
a lingering death in the wild North Sea.

With the quick-firers still trained upon the bulky target, No. 445
approached within hailing distance.

"Do you surrender?" shouted the sub. through a megaphone.

"Yes," was the reply, given by a tall, burly officer speaking good
English. "We are disabled. We give ourselves up as prisoners."

"Very good," rejoined Tressidar. "You're in no immediate danger.
Stand by to receive a hawser. We're going to tow you. But remember,
any attempt to destroy or cause further injury to the airship will
result in the death of every man jack of you. Do you quite
understand?"

The German officers conferred amongst themselves. Then one of them
gave an order to a member of the crew, who hurried to a hatchway
amidships and disappeared from view.

"He's either gone to blow up the gas-bag or else he's been told to
countermand a previous order to scuttle her," thought the sub. "Well,
the business rests entirely in their hands. They'll have to realise
that I won't be fooled with."

"We are ready to be taken in tow," shouted the German officer.

Ordering easy ahead, Tressidar brought his command almost alongside
the steam drifter.

"You'll have to cut your nets, skipper," he said, addressing a short,
thick-set man whose proportions were grotesquely exaggerated by a
stiff oilskin worn over a thick great-coat. "I want you to take that
Zepp. in tow and run her into Auldhaig. You will be compensated for
the loss of your nets and in addition receive a large sum for
salvage."

With the utmost alacrity the master of the drifter gave the necessary
orders. The half-mile of nets was cut adrift, and the powerful
engines manoeuvred until it was possible to heave a coil of rope into
the foremost gondola of the crippled airship.

Meanwhile Tressidar had sent out a flashing message--No. 445 not
being equipped with wireless--in the hope of the good news being
picked up by the rest of the flotilla. Although there was no
response, the sub. gave the signalmen instructions to flash code
messages at intervals, in order to impress upon the crew of the
Zeppelin that the torpedo-boat was not unsupported.

Slowly the trawler forged ahead, the partly water-logged airship
wallowing awkwardly in tow. To guard against treachery--which,
Tressidar knew, would be regarded as a smart action on the part of
the Huns--No. 445 kept on the starboard quarter of the Zeppelin,
ready at the first sign of a suspicious nature to place a shell into
the interior of the highly inflammable envelope.

Mile after mile the trawler towed her bulky charge, her course
through the mine-infested water being directed by signals from the
torpedo-boat, whose searchlights were continually playing upon the
prize.

Greatly to Tressidar's satisfaction, he observed that the airship
showed no signs of sinking still more. Apparently the air-tight
subdivisions enclosing the ballonets were sufficiently strong to
resist the pressure of water. The submerged portion, too, acting as a
drag in the sea, prevented the Zeppelin from yawing excessively,
especially as the wind was now broad on the port beam.

The chances were that at last a practically undamaged and repairable
Zeppelin would be brought into a British port.

A red hue in the eastern sky betokened the dawn of another day with
the promise of bad weather. Gradually the beams of the searchlights
began to pale before the increasing morning light.

Several miles to windward columns of smoke denoted the presence of
the rest of the patrolling craft, which, having abandoned their
midnight search, were returning to port.

It was now time for the trawler to alter her course eight points to
starboard. She had passed the dangerous area, and could now run
parallel with the coast until she reached the entrance to Auldhaig
Firth.

Of the Zeppelin's crew not a man was visible. Apparently accepting
the inevitable, they had taken shelter from the keen air and driving
rain until they were ordered ashore by their captors, there to enjoy
the comparatively luxurious life of prisoners of war.

Suddenly the whole fabric of the airship burst into sheets of lurid
flame. Shafts of dazzling light shot skywards, mingled with flying
debris. Almost immediately came the deafening crash of an explosion,
followed by a blast of hot air that swept the torpedo-boat like a
tornado.

For a few moments Tressidar was unable to grasp the situation. Where
the Zeppelin had been was a dense cloud of smoke, that, caught by the
wind, was drifted down upon the sub.'s command until the men were
literally gasping for breath. Then upon her decks fell fragments of
aluminium girders and wisps of burning fabric that, hurled upwards to
an immense height, was beginning to fall in all directions.

The trawler, released from her tow, was forging rapidly ahead, the
hawser trailing astern with a succession of jerks. Not until later
was it ascertained that several of her crew had been hurled to the
deck and seriously injured by the blast of the explosion, while the
others were so dazed by the concussion that it was some time before
the helm could be steadied and orders given to slow down.

"Rough luck!" muttered Tressidar. "Still, those fellows in that Zepp.
had some pluck to blow her up with all on board."

But the sub. was wrong in his surmise. Nemesis, in the shape of a
drifting German mine, had overtaken the air-raider of the night. In
turning, the trawler had fortunately missed the latent weapon by a
bare yard, while the airship, having to describe a wide circle, had
brought the submerged gondola in contact with the sensitive horns of
the mine with disastrous results.

"After all, there's some consolation," thought Tressidar as he went
below to write out his report. "There's one Zeppelin the less."




CHAPTER XII

AN OCEAN DUEL


MIDWAY between the coasts of Norway and Iceland and at less than
three degrees south of the Arctic Circle the British light cruiser
"Heracles" was on patrol duty. She was one of a chain of swift
vessels spread out betwixt Iceland and Cape Wrath in order to tighten
the net that was being cast about Germany's sea-borne trade.

Germany's mercantile fleet had long since been swept off the five
oceans, but her sea-borne trade still continued. Thanks to the
incapacity of a certain section of the British Government to grasp
the necessity for a stringent blockade, neutrals, bought by Teuton
gold, were actively engaged in importing enormous quantities of
goods, more than ten times the amount needed for their own
consumption, and were waxing rich by means of the inflated prices
that the Huns were forced to pay in order to obtain the necessaries
for carrying on the war.

But at last, owing to popular clamour rather than to the inclination
of the civil authorities, the British Government had been forced to
action. The great silent navy, that for months past had had to
overhaul ship after ship without being allowed to detain what were
obviously supplies intended for Germany, was now unfettered.

"Stop everything," was the order. The "rights" of petty neutral
States--parasites upon the belligerent nations--had to be waived if
the Great War was to be won by the Entente Powers.

The "Heracles" was a vessel of 4,300 tons, mounting two 6-in. guns
and eight 4.7's. Her speed was nineteen knots--sufficient to overhaul
any merchant craft likely to be met with in high latitudes. She was
manned by the officers and crew of the late cruiser "Pompey."

Six weeks had elapsed since Sub-lieutenant Tressidar was within an
ace of bringing a Zeppelin into Auldhaig Firth. It was now late in
February. A spell of comparatively fine weather had succeeded a month
of continual blizzards. The sea, encumbered by drift-ice, was
practically calm. The cold was intense. The vessel's masts and
funnels, and in fact every part not readily to be swept clear, were
outlined in dazzling white, the snow having frozen into a hard coat.
Morning after morning the hoses had to be connected up and hot water
played upon the muzzles of the guns in order to remove the ice from
the bore. Officers and men, clad in thick woollen and fur garments,
were faced with the problem of drawing the line between bodily warmth
and activity. If, on the one hand, they wore sufficient to withstand
the morning cold, the free use of their limbs was seriously impeded;
if, on the other hand, they had to shed their super-coats in order to
tackle a job that required agility, they were in danger of being
"nipped" by the icy blast.

Yet week after week the monotonous patrol work was maintained.
Frequently days passed without a strange sail being sighted, until
the monotony became almost appalling.

Nor did the long nights tend to improve matters. Daylight, frequently
little more than a pale twilight, lasted only four hours in the
twenty-four. The remaining twenty consisted of intense blackness,
without even the stars to cheer the men in the long night-watches.

"Sail on the starboard bow."

A wave of subdued interest swept over the ship's company. Anything in
the nature of a strange craft was sufficient to break the deadly
tediousness. Of course she would only be one of those Norwegian
traders outward bound. It was too much to hope otherwise.

The stranger came up rapidly. Upon sighting the "Heracles" she made
no attempt to alter her helm, but stood doggedly on her course. She
was a large vessel, bordering on 10,000 tons. On her sides were
painted the Norwegian colours, while the mercantile ensign of that
nation was displayed aft.

A shot fired across her bows had the desired effect. She backed her
engines and, gradually losing way, brought up within two cables'
lengths of the British cruiser.

"What ship is that?" was the peremptory signal from the "Heracles."

"The 'Frijick' of Bergen," was the reply. "Why are we detained? We
are neutrals."

"Must examine your papers," rejoined the British cruiser. "Stand by
to receive a boat."

"Away cutter."

The pipes of the bos'n's mates trilled in the keen air as the boat's
crew, armed in case of emergency, rushed to their duty. Quickly the
falls were manned and the boats swung outboard, Tressidar being in
charge.

With a loud splash the boat struck the water. Dexterously the falls
were disengaged, the lower blocks swinging with a sharp crack against
the cruiser's side.

"Give way, lads!"

As one the double line of blades dipped and the boat drew away from
her parent, for the "Heracles" had now circled slightly to starboard
and had almost bows on to the Norwegian.

At that moment half a dozen port-lids, cunningly concealed in the
stranger's side, were lowered, and a line of flashes leapt from the
quick-firers hitherto concealed. Simultaneously two torpedoes
shimmered in the dull light on their brief journey through the air
before they took to the water and headed at the rate of an express
train towards the British cruiser.

Taken completely by surprise, the sub. gave an order to "Back all."
The cutter was on the point of entering the direct line of fire. To
attempt to return to the "Heracles" was to court disaster, for
already shells were bursting against her unarmoured bows.

With the discharge of the torpedoes the disguised German cruiser, for
such she was, began to forge ahead. Under a false flag she had
attempted to deal a knock-out blow at her more heavily armed
antagonist, and she all but succeeded.

Well it was that the British cruiser was pretty well bows on to her
antagonist, for the first torpedo, passing almost underneath the
cutter's keel, missed the "Heracles'" port quarter by a few yards.
The other seemed as if it were making straight for the almost
motionless ship when, with a terrific report, a column of water was
thrown up a couple of hundred feet in the air at less than half a
cable's length from the boat under Tressidar's command.

By sheer good luck as far as the "Heracles" was concerned, the
powerful locomotive weapon had struck a huge block of almost
submerged drift-ice, sending fragments in all directions. Several of
the men in the cutter were slightly injured by pieces of falling ice,
while for six minutes the boat rocked violently in the confused water
churned up by the explosion.

Meanwhile both ships were rapidly drawing away from the cutter, and
were firing furiously. Already the superior gunnery of the "Heracles"
was beginning to tell, for several gaping holes were visible in the
German cruiser's sides, through which volumes of smoke were pouring.
The Hun, unable to score by a coward blow, was showing her heels, and
although it was impossible at the present juncture to ascertain which
craft had the advantage of speed, she had perceptibly increased her
distance before the British cruiser had got into her stride.

Nor had the "Heracles" come off lightly. The first hostile broadside
had played havoc with her upper deck. Huge rents appeared in her
funnels, thereby decreasing her forced draught, while--which was to
be particularly deplored--both her fore and after topmasts had been
shot away and with them the wireless aerials.

Keeping slightly out of the wake of the German cruiser lest she
should drop a chain of mines in the track of her pursuer, the
"Heracles" held grimly in chase, giving and receiving punishment as
she did so. Her antagonist's guns were not to be despised, although
not equal in calibre to those of the British cruiser; but since the
"Heracles" could only bring her bow 6-in. and the two foremost
broadside 4.7's to bear against the German's four 5-in. guns mounted
aft, the chances were, until the "Heracles" drew broad abaft her
foeman's beam, fairly even on both sides.


[Illustration: AN OCEAN DUEL]


It was modern warfare with the "Nelson touch." Theoretically the
naval battle of the present day is fought at long range, but here
were two well-armed vessels fighting each other at point-blank
distance.

In spite of their underhand tactics, the Germans fought gamely.
Undeterred by the accurately placed shells that rained upon her
quarter-deck, the Huns stuck to their guns.

Still exchanging shots, the two vessels were lost to sight in the
haze of the northern seas, and Tressidar and his eleven men found
themselves alone upon the deserted ocean.




CHAPTER XIII

ADRIFT


WITH the excitement of watching the ocean duel still fresh in their
minds, the cutter's crew did not readily realise their predicament.
They had sublime faith in the ability of the "Heracles" to give the
Huns "a proper hammering" and that in due course the British cruiser
would return and pick up her boat.

For some time the sounds of the violent cannonade were borne faintly
to their ears; then, save when a man's hearing played tricks upon
him, the noise of the firing died utterly away.

Hour after hour passed, but no sign of the returning cruiser. The
horrible thought that perhaps the "Heracles" had been sent to the
bottom took root and increased in Tressidar's mind. Yet no hint did
he give to his men. In order to occupy their minds and to keep their
blood circulating--for in the open boat the cold was intense--the
sub. ordered them to row, the oarsmen relieving each other every
half-hour. Round and round in a vast circle the cutter went.
Tressidar was too cautious to take the boat far from the spot where
she had parted company with her parent ship, otherwise, should the
"Heracles" return and find no sign of the cutter, she would most
likely conclude that the boat had either been swamped or blown to
atoms by a stray shell.

To add to the discomfort of the cutter's crew, it was now raining the
steady downpour accompanied by occasional sleet and drifts of fog.
Frequently the extent of vision was limited to less than half a mile.
In these circumstances the chances of being picked up by the
"Heracles" were greatly diminished.

Presently one of the men caught sight of a grey pointed object
forging through the detached pieces of drift ice. At first glance it
resembled a destroyer, save for the difference in colour. It was a
vessel of some sort, but different from any that the cutter's crew
had yet seen. It had a slightly raised fo'c'sle, large
superstructure, and two slender masts fitted with wireless gear.

"A German submarine!" exclaimed a seaman hoarsely. "My word, ain't
she a whopper!"

It was an unterseeboot of the newest type--resembling a small cruiser
rather than the accepted idea of a submarine. Trimmed for surface
running, she exposed a freeboard of nearly ten feet. For'ard were two
twelve-pounder guns in circular turrets, so arranged that they could
be lowered below the deck in a few seconds whenever it became
necessary to dive. In the elongated superstructure, which comprised
not only the conning-tower but several spacious compartments, were
gun-ports fitted with watertight lids. These were now triced up,
revealing the muzzles of four seven-pounder quick-firers. From the
after end of the superstructure floated the Black Cross of Germany,
while abaft were two more "disappearing" guns and the above-water
mine-dropping gear.

Already the two for'ard guns were trained upon the luckless cutter.
At any moment shells might be dealing death and destruction amongst
her crew.

"Stand by with your rifles, lads!" ordered Tressidar. "Keep them out
of sight until I give the word."

In silence the men awaited the submarine's approach, ignorant of what
was about to take place. The sub. had wisely refrained from making
any sign of resistance. He had decided not to give the Germans a
chance to justify their opening fire; but should they do so, the
cutter's crew would fight to the last.

After a while the submarine slowed down and stopped at a little less
than a cable's length to windward of the boat. A couple of heavily
clad officers standing on the platform formed by the roof of the
superstructure examined the cutter through their binoculars. Then one
made a remark to the other and both laughed uproariously.

Meanwhile the bow guns were still trained upon the cutter. Abreast of
the superstructure a seaman, acting upon orders from his officers,
held up a coil of rope to signify the willingness of the submarine's
crew to take the boat in tow.

Tressidar shook his head emphatically. It would be far preferable to
remain adrift in the open boat than to trust to the tender mercies of
the kultured Hun.

Slowly the submarine forged ahead and circling passed within twenty
yards of the cutter. For a few moments Tressidar was under the
impression that the U-boat was about to ram the little craft, but he
was mistaken.

"No take help from Zhermans?" shouted one of the German officers.
"Sorry we have no room for you on board, or we vos take your
prisoners to Zhermany."

Twenty or thirty men who formed the submarine's crew laughed
boisterously at the plight of the British seamen; but, somewhat to
Tressidar's surprise, no attempt was made to molest the cutter. With
her crew still jeering, the submarine increased her speed and was
soon out of sight.

The short day was drawing to a close. Benumbed by the cold, the men
huddled close together for mutual warmth. They were too exhausted to
indulge in conversation. Their frozen hands could not retain their
grasp upon the looms of the oars, yet uncomplainingly they sat with
compressed lips, looking in vain for the return of the "Heracles."

As night came on a lantern was lighted and exhibited from a boathook
set upright through one of the thwarts. The rain had now ceased. It
was snowing slightly, with the promise of a heavy blizzard before
many hours had passed. All around the drift ice floated in compact
masses, until there was danger of the boat being nipped between the
enormous floes as they ground in the long swell.

Just before midnight the thud of a ship's engines became audible.
Gradually the sound drew nearer and nearer. A large vessel, showing
no lights, was cautiously making her way through the drift ice.

The ship was not H.M.S. "Heracles." The cutter's crew knew that by
the noise of the engines, for it lacked the rhythm of the cruiser's
smoothly running machinery.

She was certainly coming in the direction of the boat, but the
question was, would she stop. Since she had gone a long way to the
northward of the usual trade routes, it was evident that the vessel
had good reasons for wishing to avoid examination by the British
patrol craft, and would not be likely to stop at the signal of
distress.

Accordingly the sub. determined to bluff her. By means of a Morse
flashing-lamp, with which the cutter was equipped, a peremptory order
to heave-to was sent. For a few moments the men waited in acute
suspense. Upon the success of the demand depended their lives, since
they had little chance of outliving the rigours of a long winter's
night in the ice-infested sea. A steady white light shone through the
darkness, followed by the signal "I am heaving-to."

"Give way, lads," exclaimed Tressidar encouragingly. "Another five
minutes will do the trick."

Gathering their remaining energies, for the men were almost done up,
the rowers urged the boat in the direction of the now motionless
steamer, and ranged alongside her towering hull, the rail of which
seemed lost in the darkness overhead.

A coil of rope, hurtling from the deck, dropped into the cutter. The
bowman, his fingers numbed with the cold, fumbled as he took a turn
round the for'ard thwart.

"Lower a ladder," shouted the sub.

"Aye, aye!" replied a voice with a pronounced foreign accent. There
was neither cordiality nor resentment in the words; merely an
acceptance with a good grace of a situation that could not be
avoided.

The cutter was grinding alongside the rust-streaked wall-sides of the
steamer. Her exhausted crew had not the strength to fend her off. It
was, indeed, doubtful whether some of the men would be able to gain
the vessel's deck without assistance.

A wire-rope ladder was lowered from the rail. Owing to the roll of
the ship the lowermost rungs were at one moment three feet from the
side. At another the ladder slapped vigorously against the iron
plating in a manner that promised broken knuckles to the men as they
climbed to safety.

Hardly able to move his limbs after his prolonged exposure in the
boat, Tressidar gamely ascended. His nerveless fingers could hardly
retain a grip upon the wet and slippery rungs. His boots slipped
dangerously from the smooth rounded surface of the swaying ladder.
Oppressed by the weight of his saturated clothing, he had more than
once on the hazardous ascent to pause and regain his breath before he
could summon his jaded energies to a renewed effort.

He fancied that the master of the vessel glanced curiously at him as
he almost staggered upon the deck. Then, without a word, he drew
himself up and waited until the last of his men had gained safety.
Then, and only then, did he drop his plan of bluff.

"We were adrift in an open boat belonging to a British cruiser," he
explained. "We should be glad of your hospitality until we fall in
with another of our warships. Might I ask what ship this is?"

"The 'Freya' of Hammerfest, bound from New York to Gothenborg,"
replied the master. "We are only too glad to give you assistance; for
a few hours, perhaps, since your ships swarm like ants. If you will
send your men for'ard they will be attended to. Meanwhile, sir, will
you favour me with your company in my cabin?"

"How about our rifles, sir?" asked one of the cutter's crew.

Tressidar hesitated. The men, being armed when they left the ship,
ought to be under arms until they returned; but, on the other hand,
it was hardly good taste to send them to the "Freya's" fo'c'sle with
rifles and ammunition as if they were a prize crew.

The Norwegian skipper noticed his dilemma.

"Perhaps you would like me to take charge of them," he remarked.
"Should we be stopped by a German submarine--one passed and was going
south-west less than five hours ago--it would go hard with us if they
found armed Englishmen on board. I will be responsible that the arms
will be returned to you intact when you are transferred to a British
ship."

The sub. saw no reason why he should not do as the master of the
"Freya" suggested. The chances were that the ship would be examined
by a patrol vessel before many hours were passed. There was one
problem, however, that he could not exactly solve, nor did he like to
ask his host any question on the matter. If the "Freya" were what she
was stated to be--a neutral trader from and for neutral ports--why
did she go so far out of her course?

The arms were given up and the jaded men sent forward, where they
were hospitably entertained by the Norwegian crew, who not only gave
them hot food and drink, but lent them clothing while their own was
being dried in front of the galley fire. Not until Tressidar was
assured that his men were made comfortable did he go aft to the
master's cabin.

"You are too tired to converse," remarked the skipper, as the sub.
attacked a plain but appetising meal.

"Not at all," replied Tressidar, his anxiety to hear more of his host
and the vessel under his command being uppermost in his mind.

The master, after the manner of his race, began by plying the sub.
with numerous questions concerning his adventures, to all of which
the sub. replied without any attempt at reticence. He knew that
mistrust begets mistrust, and that if he "hedged" his own chances of
obtaining information would be thrown away.

"So your ship was engaged with a German ship disguised as one of
ours," remarked the master of the "Freya." "I hope she sunk her.
These arrogant Germans have already torpedoed nearly twenty of our
peaceable merchantmen and our Government can but protest If only we
were a great nation how we would help to fight them! As it is, we
can only expostulate, knowing that expostulation is of no avail so
far as a German is concerned."

"Yet the submarine you fell in with this afternoon did not attempt to
torpedo you?"

"No; but I think I can explain that," replied the Norwegian skipper.
"She passed close under our stern and read our name. These fellows
seem to have information of every vessel leaving American ports, and
for which port they are bound. Those making for Scandinavia are
generally left alone; it is only neutral vessels bound for British
ports that are sunk."

"Perhaps that is why you took such a devious course," prompted
Tressidar.

"Yes," admitted his host frankly, "and also to lessen the risk of
hitting a German mine. Our troubles will commence when we enter the
Skager Rack, for the Germans, in defiance of all international law,
have mined that too. But before that, I trust, you will have no
further need for my hospitality."

The skipper spoke with evident sincerity. His sympathies were wholly
pro-British. He quite recognised the necessity for a stringent
blockade of Germany and for the restriction of imports into Norway,
Sweden, Denmark, and Holland.

"Of course it is a great temptation for our people to enrich
themselves," he said, "only it is short-sighted policy. I feel
convinced that should Germany win this war--and my opinion is that
she won't unless the Allies make a serious and irreparable
blunder--the liberty of the smaller States of Europe, even though
they have preserved a strict and punctilious neutrality, will be gone
for ever. But you have finished your meal: you would like to sleep?
There is a bunk at your disposal. Should the slightest occasion
arise, I will have you awakened at once."

Thankfully Tressidar accepted the offer. Half asleep, he threw off
his clothes and turned in. A minute later he was in a deep slumber.




CHAPTER XIV

A BREACH OF NEUTRALITY


TRESSIDAR awoke with a start to find himself in utter darkness.
Accustomed to be aroused at all times and without warning, he was
fully awake in an instant.

The "Freya" was rolling considerably. Against her sides the waves
slapped viciously. Above his head he could see the seas pouring on
deck with that almost indescribable sound that accompanies the rush
of green water over the low bulwarks.

The rain had been succeeded by a stiff blow and the tramp was
ploughing through a rough sea with the wind broad on her starboard
beam.

"Thank goodness no middle watch for me to-night," soliloquised the
sub. as he prepared to fall asleep again. "Wonder what the time is?
I'll just see to satisfy my curiosity."

He leapt from his bunk and searched for the switch, for the
after-cabin of the "Freya" was electrically lighted. Having switched
on the light, he consulted his watch. It was twenty minutes to ten.

"By Jove, I've almost slept the clock twice round!" exclaimed
Tressidar. "It was nearly two in the morning before I turned in.
Seventeen hours at ten knots, if not more. Why, the old tub must be
well across the North Sea by this time."

Wondering why the "Freya" had not fallen in with any patrol ships,
the sub. dressed and left the cabin. In the saloon he found the
Norwegian skipper, who was in the midst of a meal.

"You slept so soundly that we did not like to awaken you," he said as
he rose to greet his guest. "There has been nothing to report. We
have not sighted a single sail since yesterday. Please sit down and
have some food."

"And my men?" asked Tressidar.

"They are all practically recovered except two, who have to keep to
their bunks," replied the Norwegian. "They have all turned in again,
but if you wish to see them----"

"No, I won't disturb them," the sub. hastened to declare, lest his
desire to communicate with his men might give rise to unfounded
suspicion. "To-morrow, perhaps. Where are we now, do you think?"

"About eighty miles due west of Cape Stodt, which is, you may perhaps
remember, almost midway between Christiansund and Bergen," was the
reply. "In order to avoid meeting German submarines, I have to hug
the Norwegian coast. I am afraid we've evaded your cruisers, sir.
Believe me, it was not by design, but by accident. Of course there is
no reason why you should not return to England by steamer after we
land you at Gothenborg, provided you and your men wear civilian
clothes and discard your arms and ammunition."

"That is something to be thankful for," remarked Tressidar. "So long
as I am back in England and able to rejoin my ship, I am content.
Next to being a prisoner of war the lot of an interned man must be
fearfully irksome."

"Quite so," agreed the skipper. "Now tell me: when do you think that
the war will be over?"

"When we've properly whacked the Germans--not before," replied the
sub. firmly.

"Then the sooner the better," added his host. "At the present time it
is hardly safe for a neutral ship to be at sea. We neutrals are like
a man standing on two rickety stools. At any moment one might
collapse and let us down badly. Holland and Denmark are the worst
off, I should say. It will indeed be a marvel if they can contrive to
avoid being drawn in by the vortex, even as Belgium was."

"We came into the war to help Belgium," remarked Tressidar.
"Only----"

The Norwegian smiled blandly.

"My friend," he interrupted, "let me tell you something. The
onlookers see most of the game. The cry about violating the
neutrality of Belgium that your politicians are so fond of raising is
mere clap-trap. It served its purpose to unite the various political
factions in England, that was all. You English had a chance that
might, perhaps, never occur again. It was a favourable chance to
smash German militarism, and, luckily for you, you took it. Even if
Belgium had not been involved, Great Britain would have ranged
herself on the side of France and Russia. When big Empires wage war,
little States do not count."

Tressidar merely inclined his head in assent. He, too, knew that the
Norwegian spoke the truth. Long before the German troops set foot in
Belgium the British Fleet was "standing fast" in readiness to help
in the necessary task of freeing Europe, nay, the world, from the
menace of Prussianism as preached by the disciples of kultur.

At daybreak the "Freya" rounded the Naze, the southernmost point of
Norway. Ahead lay the broad waters of the Skager Rack. In normal
times, following the breaking up of the ice, the sound would be
dotted with vessels of all nationalities engaged in trade with the
Baltic ports. Now not a sail was visible. The heavily sparred German
timber ships, like the rest of the mercantile navy of Prussia, had
long since been swept off the seas.

The quaint Russian barques, too, that were familiar in almost every
British port of any size, were no longer to be seen. A few Swedish
merchantmen, timorously hugging the Norwegian coast, might have been
discerned had the weather been clear. Otherwise, save for the
spectacular "dashes" of a few German warships--short cruises to cheer
up the Huns in the belief that their navy did plough the
high-seas--the Skager Rack presented almost as desolate an aspect as
the Dead Sea.

The "Freya" hugged the shore closely, keeping well within the
three-mile limit. Even at that distance the land was frequently
obscured by patches of mist that drove slowly across the sea under
the mild southerly wind.

Presently the tramp ran into a thick bank of fog. With a dangerous
shore so close under her lee, it was imperative that every precaution
should be taken to prevent her being carried out of her course by the
strong indraught. Speed was reduced to a minimum necessary to carry
steerage way, while the syren was kept going to warn possible
approaching vessels of her presence.

Suddenly, like the passing of a compact cloud across the sun, the fog
lifted. The ship was still within the three-mile limit, but between
her and the Norwegian coast was a fleet of warships steaming rapidly
in the same direction and on a parallel course that, if maintained,
would bring them within a cable's length of the "Freya."

"By Jove!" exclaimed Tressidar. "They are German vessels."

He was right. There were three light cruisers steaming in line ahead.
On either hand were lines of torpedo-boats, while overhead at an
altitude of about one thousand feet flew two Zeppelins of the most
recent type. The Huns, fearing submarine attack, were taking no
unnecessary risks. They were cruising in neutral waters, but the
German populace was not to know that.

"Keep your men well out of sight," cautioned the skipper. "Even the
Norwegian flag flying in Norwegian waters would not be able to
protect you."

As he spoke the leading torpedo-boat of the starboard division
sounded her syren imperiously. By all the rules of the road at sea
the tramp, being the overtaken vessel, was entitled to hold on her
course; but it was evident that the German flotilla was attempting to
edge the "Freya" beyond territorial waters, although for what reason
none on board her could certainly conjecture.

Nearer and nearer drew the warships, without making the slightest
attempt to alter helm. Their syrens were braying frantically. It
reminded the sub. of a herd of cattle trying to shift a little dog
that impeded their way.

If the "Freya's" skipper held on, he realised that he would give the
imperious Huns cause for offence. Reluctantly he gave orders for the
helm to be ported in order to yield to the palpably illegal tactics
of the German ships.

As the tramp altered her course the starboard column of torpedo-boats
did likewise, until they were heading south-east or almost at right
angles to the coast-line. The "Freya" was being jockeyed beyond the
three-mile limit.

The sub. knew that he and his men were in a tight corner. Should the
tramp be compelled to hove-to there was no escape. They could not be
passed off as passengers, since their names did not figure on the
passenger list. Nor was the ship certified to carry any persons
besides her officers and crew.

Tressidar dismissed the proposal that he and his men should hide in
the hold. Searched the ship would certainly be, and he was not going
to be ignominiously hauled out of the hold by a mob of Germans.

At length, in fact directly the tramp had passed the limit of
territorial waters, the peremptory hail to stop instantly came from
the nearmost German torpedo-boat, which promptly swung out of station
and slowed down.

"I am sorry, but it is not my fault," exclaimed the Norwegian skipper
to Tressidar as he telegraphed to the engine-room for half-speed
astern.

"You did your best: you had no choice," replied the sub. "We must
make the best of the situation."

While the German torpedo-boat was manoeuvring to come alongside (it
saved the trouble of sending away a boarding-party), Tressidar sent a
couple of seamen to fetch the rifles and ammunition from the cabin.
These he dropped overboard. At least they would not be allowed to
fall into the hands of the enemy.

Barely had this task been completed when a tall, full-faced, blond
unter-leutnant appeared over the side, followed by half a dozen armed
men.

Directly he caught sight of Tressidar and the British seamen he half
hesitated, fearing a trap. Then, possibly realising that he had
thirty German warships to back him up, he waxed bold, and fiercely
twirling his fair moustache, haughtily demanded to know what these
English swine were doing on board a Norwegian ship?

The skipper of the "Freya," who spoke German as fluently as he did
English, explained briefly and to the point, saying that he had acted
merely in the dictates of humanity.

"Then so much the worse for you," retorted the German officer.

He walked to the side and reported his find to his superior, the
kapitan of the torpedo-boat. Great was the excitement on board, while
the news was quickly transmitted by semaphore to the flagship, which
happened to be one of the three light cruisers.

Tressidar and the cutter's crew were then ordered over the side and
sent on board the torpedo-boat. A thorough search was then made of
the "Freya" lest any more British officers and men might still be in
hiding, but without result.

"Your vessel is a prize to the German Government," declared the
unter-leutnant, addressing the Norwegian skipper.

"A prize?" repeated the master. "For why?"

"You are conveying contraband."

"We are not," protested the "Freya's" captain. "We have not touched
at a British port. Our papers prove that. And our cargo is not
contraband."

"I did not say contraband cargo," said the German with a leer. "Men
can be contraband as well as stores. You had English seamen on board,
therefore you are under arrest."

"We were in Norwegian waters when you overhauled us," declared the
skipper.

"No," replied the German. "Well beyond the limit. But what is the use
of your protesting You are under arrest and the vessel is a prize. If
you do not know how to make the best of the business, I will have to
show you."

So with a prize crew on board, the luckless "Freya," escorted by a
torpedo-boat, was taken into the Elbe, while Tressidar found himself
a prisoner of war in the hands of the Huns.




CHAPTER XV

A PRISONER OF WAR


AS soon as the Norwegian tramp and her escort were on the way to a
German port the torpedo-boat resumed her station at the head of the
starboard line.

The British seamen had been sent below as soon as they were
transhipped, but Tressidar was told to go aft and await examination.

"You say your ship engaged one of our cruisers?" asked the
lieutenant-commander of the torpedo-boat. "What was the result?"

"Your cruiser ran away," replied Tressidar pointedly.

"And then what happened?"

"The 'Heracles' stood in pursuit. An action was taking place. We
were left adrift in the cutter."

"And the end of the action?"

"I cannot tell. Both ships were lost in the mist."

"Was the English cruiser torpedoed?"

"That I cannot say," replied the sub.

"It was possible. Were there any signs of one of our incomparable
submarines about?"

"We saw one several hours later."

"Then it is certain that your 'Heracles' was sunk," declared the
German joyously. Already he had decided to report that a party of
English Seamen, the sole survivors of a torpedoed cruiser, had been
rescued by a division of the High Seas Fleet. He could imagine the
intense enthusiasm in Berlin at the news.

He plied Tressidar with questions to elicit the information as to the
exact position where the engagement started, but beyond the vague
statement that it was somewhere in the North Sea, the sub. refrained
from giving further details.

"The fellow is obstinate," remarked the unter-leutnant to his
superior. "Why not lock him up in the fo'c'sle with his men?"

"He is an officer, von Möber," said the lieutenant-commander. "He is
entitled to a certain amount of consideration."

"If I had my way I'd make it hot for this Pig of an Englishman,
officer or no officer," declared von Möber.

"You are over-zealous," said his superior. "These Englishmen treat
our men who fall into their hands in a proper manner."

"Because they fear reprisals," added the unter-leutnant. "Once they
began to ill-treat the crew of one of our lost submarines, but we
soon frightened them into better manners. That shows how the English
fear the German arms."

The young German firmly believed what he said. Like hundreds of his
fellow-countrymen, he regarded the considerate treatment of Huns held
as prisoners in England as a sign of weakness, while, on the other
hand, severity towards British captives was looked upon as a
testimony to the certainty of success to the German arms. Leniency to
prisoners and to interned Germans in England, instead of raising a
spark of gratitude in the minds of the kultured Huns, was accepted as
a token of moral weakness on the part of the strafed Englishmen.

German submarines could--and did--torpedo unarmed merchant ships
without warning; Zeppelins sailed by night over undefended British
towns and villages, raining death and destruction upon them. In both
cases these gallant exploits were hailed with wild enthusiasm by the
German nation. Yet the humane British, refraining from reprisals of a
similar nature, were looked upon by the Huns as a nation afraid to
retaliate, so that in the day of reckoning they would be able to make
better terms with the All-Highest War-Lord. And this theory, fostered
by "inspired" newspapers, was held practically by entire Germany.

The lieutenant-commander of the torpedo-boat was an exception.
Practically born and bred a sailor, his outlook was wider than that
of the majority of German naval officers, who are first and foremost
soldiers, and sailors by the will of their Emperor.

"While Herr Tressidar remains on board he will be treated with proper
respect, von Möber," he said firmly, then turning to his prisoner he
added, "I do not ask you for your parole, but let me warn you that a
sentry will be posted outside the door, and that any attempt on your
part to escape will certainly be discovered and with it your
privileges will be withdrawn."

"Thank you," replied Tressidar. "I understand."

He turned and followed a petty officer who had been told off to show
him to his place of detention. Just as he reached the small oval
hatchway leading below, two heavy explosions in quick succession
almost burst the drums of his ears.

So terrific were the detonations that the sub., was for the moment
unable to detect their source. It seemed as if the deafening noise
came from immediately overhead and from all sides of the torpedo-boat.
The frail craft shook like a terrified animal under the rending of
the air.

Then, to his unbounded delight, Tressidar saw the leading light
cruiser was heeling badly to starboard, her upper works hidden in
clouds of smoke mingled with spray.

Following the explosions came a dead silence of nearly a minute, then
the remaining ships of the German flotilla opened a rapid fire, the
shells hurtling towards a dozen different targets that existed solely
in the heated imaginations of the gun-layers. So erratic was the
firing that more than once the German ships were in danger of being
hit by the projectiles discharged from the guns of their consorts.
For full five minutes pandemonium reigned.

Meanwhile the stricken cruiser was still heeling. Already her upper
deck on the starboard side was flush with the water. Men were
clustering aft or else crowding into the boats that had survived the
explosion and were capable of being lowered.

It was a British submarine which had scored a couple of direct hits.
In spite of the presence of a double screen of torpedo-boats,
notwithstanding the prying eyes of the Zeppelins cruising over the
fleet, a plucky lieutenant-commander of one of the "E" class had been
able to obtain a periscopic sight of the German flagship. Here was a
chance too good to be missed. He immediately gave orders for two
torpedoes to be fired. Either was sufficient to strike a mortal blow,
for the first struck the target abreast of the foremost gun-turret;
the second found its mark fifteen feet for'ard of the stern-post.

Without waiting to observe the result of the explosion, the submarine
dived. To turn and speed away from her prey would be courting
destruction, for her movements would be distinctly visible to the
observers in the Zeppelins, and the torpedo-boats, directed by
wireless from the airships, would be rushing to and fro across the
submerged path of the British submarine and tear her to pieces with
explosive grapnels. So her lieutenant-commander steered her so that
she would pass underneath the German flotilla, and then, by compass
course, kept in the track that the hostile vessels had previously
held. Here the water, disturbed by the propellers of the flotilla,
was thick and muddy, and, forming an efficient screen for the
Zeppelins, enabled the British submarine to get clean away.

Long before the Teuton flagship had plunged to the bottom and the
furious cannonade had died away, the "E Something" was a dozen miles
from the scene of her exploit.

The disaster had temporarily unnerved the Germans. Once again, in
spite of their cautious cruise in neutral waters, one of the ships
had been sent to the bottom. And the irony of the situation lay in
the fact that had the ships not altered course to head off the
"Freya" beyond the three-mile limit, the opportunity for the British
submarine to "bag" a Hun might not have occurred.

Steering a zig-zag course and sheltering between the far-flung lines
of torpedo-boats, the remaining German cruisers ran frantically for
the Kattegat and thence to the security of Kiel Harbour, while the
torpedo-boat in which Tressidar and the luckless cutter's crew found
themselves prisoners parted company and steamed rapidly in the
direction of the island of Sylt.

It was not long before Sub-lieutenant Tressidar found that his ideas
of hospitality differed considerably from the German
lieutenant-commander's notions on the subject, for when the tumult on
board had begun to subside--and not before--was the young officer
sent below.

The "cabin" was little better than a metal compartment below the
waterline and immediately underneath the officers' cabins. Although
officially designated a torpedo-boat, the craft was almost equal in
size to the largest British destroyer, her draught being not less
than eleven feet. Built on the "cellular" principal, with double
bottoms and numerous transverse and lateral watertight bulk-heads,
this type of vessel was considered by the naval architects of the
Fatherland to be practically unsinkable, although already several of
this particular torpedo-boat's sister ships had failed to come up to
expectations when cruel fate brought them within range of British
quick-firers.

Save for a solitary electric lamp of low candle-power the sub.'s
place of confinement was unlighted. Ventilation, too, was of the most
meagre description, for the only air admitted was the already close
atmosphere of 'tween decks that filtered in though a small "louvre"
over the locked door. Without a sentry had been posted, but the key,
instead of being entrusted to him, was kept in the
lieutenant-commander's cabin. Thus, in the event of the vessel being
sunk, it was fairly reasonable to assume that all chances of the
prisoner being rescued depended upon the whim of the commanding
officer and the alacrity of the German sentry, even if time permitted
for him to risk his life for the sake of an "English swine."

Left to his own devices, Tressidar lost no time in taking minute
stock of his surroundings. With the exception of a low bench, the
place was devoid of furniture. The inner skin of the hull plating had
been newly coated with red lead, and smelt abominably. In addition,
some of the seams, working under the strain of the powerful engines,
were "weeping" copiously, until the floor was flooded to a depth of
two inches.

"Not a dog's chance of seeing what is going on," soliloquised the
sub., as he threw himself upon the bench and drew his feet clear of
the miniature lake. "I wonder what the game is? I hope, for my sake,
and the sake of my men, that this hooker won't be torpedoed or mined
while we are on board."

Tressidar was in a bad temper. The fact that he had been made a
prisoner through the indefensible and high-handed action of the Huns
riled him considerably. If he had had the ill-luck to be captured in
fair fight he would, doubtless, have accepted the situation without
demur, but to be literally kidnapped without the chance of a blow in
self-defence was galling in the extreme.

Several hours passed. Save for a visit from a particularly surly
seaman who brought the sub. a very sorry meal, Tressidar was left
severely alone, to ruminate over his bad luck.

At length the slowing down of the torpedo-boat's engines told him
that she was nearing port, for hitherto she had been racing at top
speed and steering a zig-zag course. After twenty minutes, during
which the engine-room telegraph bell clanged as many times, the
vessel came to a standstill.

Then followed another tedious wait. Apparently the Huns were in no
hurry to land their prisoner. But, since there is an end to all
things, Tressidar in due course found himself being escorted on deck,
preceded and followed by armed seamen.

It was still daylight. The torpedo-boat was berthed, in company with
more than twenty others, in a spacious basin. Surrounding the
enclosed water was a broad quay, flanked with two-storeyed buildings.
The entrance to the basin was, remarkably, on the eastern side or
remote from the open sea. Evidently the approach was by a tortuous,
intricate channel that skirted the southernmost extremity of the
island.

To the westward the outlook was bounded by a range of sand-dunes of
varying altitudes. In some places they were about 50 feet in height;
in others the grass-grown hummocks slightly exceeded double that
dimension. A short distance to the north-west was a lighthouse, a
round yellow tower perched upon a tall red cliff, that formed a
striking contrast to the white sand-dunes on either side.

In almost every depression between the chain of dunes were heavy gun
batteries, while on a broad level road running parallel to the sea
and about two hundred yards from the summits of the sand-hills were
numerous armoured motor-cars armed with quick-firers of widely
differing calibres.

"Ah, I know where I am now," thought Tressidar as he recognised the
lighthouse--not from actual acquaintanceship but from an intimate
knowledge of the British "North Sea Pilot." "That's Rothe Kliff
lighthouse, so they have landed me at Sylt. Next to Heligoland, they
couldn't have chosen a stronger place to hold me prisoner. I wonder
if they are going to keep me in some wretched prison camp in the
centre of the German Empire."

He looked in vain for the cutter's crew. The men had been landed and
marched off almost as the torpedo-boat was berthed, and were now on
their way to embark in a small steamer for Hamburg.

The exhibition of captured British seamen in that paralysed
commercial port was a stroke of diplomacy on the part of the German
authorities. It gave colour to the official lie that a portion of the
dauntless High Seas Fleet had boldly made a demonstration in force
off the Firth of Forth The English had plucked up sufficient courage
to leave their fortified harbours and give battle. It was a feeble
attempt, and the British fleet broke off the engagement before the
Germans could force a decisive action. As it was, a British
battleship had been sunk with all hands. A large armoured cruiser had
been sent to the bottom, a portion of the crew being rescued by the
humane Germans. While engaged in this work of mercy the German
cruiser had been torpedoed by a submarine. This was the fairy-tale
that was quickly spread--broadcast from Hamburg to Königsberg and
from the shores of the Baltic to the Swiss frontier.

Escorted by a file of marines, Tressidar was marched along the quay
through throngs of curious and ill-disposed sightseers, of whom nine
out of ten were in uniforms. At the end of the quay the escort turned
down a narrow lane and finally came to a halt outside a low stone
building, almost on the outskirts of the little town. The house stood
in its own grounds, which were enclosed by a tall iron fence topped
by a complex array of barbed wire. At the gate were two sentries. Two
more stood in the portico of the house, while others were much in
evidence as they marched to and fro on the raised platforms
commanding an uninterrupted view of the grounds.

Inside the fence and separated from it by a distance of twenty feet
was another barbed wire entanglement, while in the intervening space
were several large and ferocious-looking mastiffs.

This was Sub-lieutenant Tressidar's first introduction to the naval
prison of the fortress of Sylt.




CHAPTER XVI

THE FIRST DAY OF CAPTIVITY


HAVING handed over their prisoner to the charge of a corporal and a
couple of men, the marine guard marched off. The sub. was then curtly
ordered into a large, almost unfurnished room, the windows of which
were heavily barred.

Engaged in conversation at one end of the room were four officers.
One was the governor of the prison--a fat German of middle height,
whose most striking peculiarities were his bristling, upturned
moustache and a shiny, bald pate surrounded by a natural tonsure of
raven black hair--another a subaltern who, having been wounded and
rendered unfit for active service, was able to "get his own back" by
systematically jeering at the prisoners and making their hard lives
even yet more unbearable. The remaining officers were doctors.

"Take off all your clothes," ordered the lieutenant, with great
emphasis on the word "all."

Tressidar obeyed. As each garment was, discarded it was seized and
closely examined by the corporal, who seemed obsessed with the idea
that English officers invariably had confidential documents sewn into
their clothing. The sub.'s watch, purse, pocket-book, keys, and, in
fact, everything in his pockets were handed to the junior German
officer, who handled them as if they were contaminated articles,
although he took good care to pocket the timepiece and the purse.

Stripped to the buff, Tressidar was subjected to a prolonged and
searching verbal examination. Once when he demurred at answering a
certain question, the governor reminded him that unless he replied
truthfully and unhesitatingly he would have to remain without clothes
until he did. And since the temperature was only a few degrees above
freezing-point, the threat carried weight.

At the same time his replies were guarded and as inaccurate as they
could possibly be without running the risk of betraying the fact. To
make a statement that was absolutely inconsistent with details which
his inquisitors knew already would be asking for additional trouble.

The interview, having lasted for nearly forty minutes, was followed
by a medical examination of a perfunctory nature. So long as the
prisoners were not suffering from any disease that might be a source
of danger to the garrison, nothing else mattered from the
authorities' point of view. The captives might die of starvation
without raising a spark of compassion in the minds of the kultured
Huns.

"Now," thought the sub., who by this time was shivering with cold, "I
suppose they'll let me dress."

They did--but not in the manner he expected, for at an order from the
governor, one of the soldiers kicked Tressidar's uniform into a
corner of the room, while another emptied a small canvas sack full of
dirty and badly worn clothes on the floor at the prisoner's feet.

With feelings of repugnance Tressidar dressed. The 

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