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."
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.