For the next five weeks workmen were toiling day and night upon the "Saraband," from the moment she arrived at Portsmouth Dockyard.
A clean sweep was made of her sumptuous cabin fittings. The white enamelled woodwork of the promenade and boat-decks was ruthlessly "scrapped." Over the engine and boiler-rooms a protective steel deck was built, while light armour, sufficient to stop any hostile shell from the light guns of the German commerce destroyers, was placed in position round the water-line, and also in other important and otherwise vulnerable parts of the ship.
In addition to the two 4.7-in. guns already carried four more of the same calibre were provided, two on the fo'c'sle and two amidships, while on the promenade-deck four twelve-pounders were mounted behind armoured shields. Finally the ship from truck to water-line was painted a neutral grey; her name was changed, and under the White Ensign appeared in the Navy List as H.M. Armed Merchant Cruiser "Strongbow."
During that six weeks Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, R.N.R., had been far from idle. In company with the rest of the ship's deck officers he had been sent to Whale Island, the Naval Gunnery School, to undergo a rapid though none the less thorough preliminary course of gunnery. Aubyn simply revelled in the work. Gunlaying, position finding, gunnery control, both in theory and practice, kept him hard at it, and when the examination took place he came off with flying colours, somewhat to the astonishment and great satisfaction of the authorities, who had hitherto regarded the R. N. R. officers in a rather tolerant spirit.
Just before the date fixed for commissioning H.M.S. "Strongbow" Terence was accorded weekend leave—from three o'clock on Friday to nine a.m. on Monday. Needless to say he employed the time by paying a visit to his home.
Mrs. Aubyn lived in a picturesque little house on the East Coast, between Caistor and Yarmouth, standing within fifty yards of the low cliffs. The house had been designed by Captain Aubyn, who did not live long to enjoy his well-earned retirement. It was a low rambling building. Over the two end rooms was a flat roof, accessible by means of a "hatchway." This was the worthy captain's "quarter-deck," on which was mounted on a tripod a powerful telescope. There was also a flagstaff set at a rake from the centre of the side wall. From this staff Captain Aubyn regularly hoisted the ensign at the regulation hour, hauling it down at sunset. This he did regularly until a few days before his death. In one of the rooms under the flat roof was a semicircular projection, pierced with several small windows that commanded an extensive marine view. This room the captain was wont to dub the "casemate."
People in the neighbourhood were apt to regard the house as the output of a somewhat eccentric mind; but it was rather the result of a life-long career in various ships of the Royal Navy, and so strong were the traits of the service that Captain Aubyn introduced them as far as possible into his private life. Whenever his friends rallied him up on the subject of "Aubyn's Battery" the captain smiled complacently. The reference pleased him far more than his acquaintances were aware.
Terence Aubyn's irregular and hasty visits were always a source of deep pleasure to his mother. In his breezy way the lad would take his parent by storm, converting her usually quiet existence into a brief round of excitement.
It was after eleven o'clock at night when the sub. reached Yarmouth. He had previously wired to the effect that he would be home, as quickly as the unpunctual train service would permit.
Once clear of the town Terence set off at a steady swinging pace along the Denes. Several times he was challenged by patrols, incidents that served to remind him that war was close at home. He vaguely wondered whether such precautions were necessary, with the Grand Fleet holding the North Sea and keeping every German warship skulking in harbour. It seemed so unreal, even with vast armies fighting on the Continent, and the sound of their guns almost within hearing distance of Dover, that the peaceful Norfolk coast should have to be protected against possible raids.
At length Aubyn reached the commencement of the cliff path. It was a starry night, sufficiently light to enable him to follow the well-known track without risk of blundering over the edge of the miniature precipice on to the sands twenty feet below.
After a mile or so the path skirted a slight indentation of the cliff. As Terence passed this spot he saw a light flash at the bottom of the hollow. Then the gleam vanished.
In the starlight Terence could discern the figure of a man. In spite of the chilliness of the night air he wore no overcoat. He was standing motionless, with his back towards the sub.
"The fellow's dropped something," soliloquised Aubyn. "I'll go and bear a hand."
The sand muffled his footsteps till he was within ten yards of the stranger. Hearing the sound the man faced about and flashed an electric torch upon the ground.
"Lost something, sir?" asked Terence affably. "Can I help you?"
"My pipe," returned the other. "It must have fallen out of my pocket."
The voice seemed strangely familiar, yet the sub. could not call the owner to memory.
"You live about here, I presume?" asked Aubyn. "I think I recognize your voice——"
The next moment he uttered an involuntary cry of pain and clasped his hand to his eyes. The stranger had suddenly thrown a handful of some burning substance straight into the young officer's face.
For some moments Terence stood still, with his hands up to his face. The pain was excruciating. He could do nothing, but he could hear the footsteps of the rascal as he ran from the scene of his dastardly work.
"The brute has thrown quicklime in my eyes," thought the sub. "I'll have to find my way to the sea and try to save my sight. Good heavens!"
Like a flash he now recognized the voice. It was that of the spy, Major Karl von Eckenhardt.
Gradually Aubyn made his way down the gently shelving sands, guided by the murmurs of the waves breaking on shore. Before he had gone many yards he gave vent to a prodigious sneeze, quickly followed by another.
"That's luck indeed," muttered the young officer. "It isn't lime after all; it's pepper."
Presently the involuntary flow of tears cleared the irritating grains from his eyes, and though they still smarted terribly he was now able to see. In addition a veil had been lifted from before his mental vision: hitherto rather sceptical concerning the reports of German spies on the East Coast he was no longer in doubt on that score.
There was also another aspect to the situation. Perhaps von Eckenhardt had learnt the home address of the young officer who had materially assisted in thwarting his designs upon the "Saraband." Motives of revenge may have brought the German hither, possibly to strike a blow at Aubyn through his parent. Terence tried to dismiss the suggestion as absurd, but the presentiment grew upon him. He resolved to get his mother to move into either Yarmouth or Norwich at the first opportunity.
Thus reasoning Terence retraced his steps. He meant to inform the nearest patrol of what had occurred, and if the telegraph and telephone could be pressed into immediate service the spy ought to be apprehended before morning.
"'Alt. Who goes there?"
"Friend!" replied Terence promptly.
"Rummy time of night to be taking a constitutional," commented the sentry, stepping from the shelter afforded by a clump of furze; then recognizing Aubyn's naval cap and great-coat—
"Beg pardon, sir," he said apologetically.
"Have you seen anyone else pass this way recently?" demanded Terence.
"No, sir; not during the last three-quarters of an hour. Is anything wrong, sir?
"I stumbled across a fellow using a flash lamp."
"I wish I had, sir," declared the sentry, a smart young Territorial. "Just my luck I didn't. If I had——" and he tapped the magazine of his rifle significantly.
All thoughts of making his way home had vanished from Aubyn's mind. The demands of duty completely eclipsed the call of home. He hastened back to Yarmouth and reported the matter to the naval authorities.
Energetic steps were taken to capture the daring spy. Telegraph and telephone were resorted to, verbal descriptions being transmitted to all police stations in the vicinity, while orders were issued to the Territorial troops guarding the railway stations to exercise particular vigilance in this direction.
It was also equally desirable to ascertain the vessel or vessels to whom von Eckenhardt was signalling, and a number of small craft was despatched to search Yarmouth Roads and an area bounded by imaginary lines drawn through the Would, Smith's Knoll, Cross Sands, and Corton Lights.
By this time Aubyn had given up all idea of going home that night. Rather than disturb his parent by knocking at the door at an unearthly hour of the morning, he decided to crave the hospitality of the naval officers attached to the Yarmouth base.
"Hello, Aubyn, old chap! what brings you in these parts?" asked a tall, broad-shouldered man in the uniform of a sub-lieutenant of the Motor Boat Reserve.
Terence looked keenly at his questioner. He was mystified, and the officer keenly enjoyed his discomfiture.
"You have the advantage of me," said Aubyn.
"What. You don't remember Dick Waynsford? Come, come, that's base ingratitude."
"Well, old chap, if you will shave off that inelegant moustache of yours—congratulations, old man."
Dick Waynsford was a yachtsman who on the outbreak of the war had applied for and had been given a commission in the newly formed Motor Boat Reserve. His intimate knowledge of the intricate harbours and creeks of the Suffolk and Essex coasts, combined with a strong liking for the sea, made him fully qualified for the post.
In Yarmouth Harbour were a dozen or so weatherly motor-boats, whose duty it was to act as tenders for the fleet in the Roads, and to undertake patrolling work. At all hours and in almost every state of the weather these staunch little craft could be seen as they sped upon their various duties. Unthinking people regarded the Motor Boat Reserve as a soft job—an opportunity to wear His Majesty's uniform and at the same time to be out of any possibility of danger. They had yet to learn that the war was to be brought actually to the shores of Old England, which they had hitherto considered impregnable. Then the slighted "harbour patrol" boats would have their chance.
"Have a run out with us, Aubyn?" suggested Waynsford. "We've just had orders to look for a suspicious trawler—possibly the one to which your friend the spy was signalling. Since you have partly spoiled the game you may just as well see the end of it."
"Right-o," assented Terence. "Lead on."
Aubyn followed his friend to the quayside. Here, floating idly on the dark waters of the tidal river, were four motor-boats, each painted a dark grey and distinguished by a number on the bows, their outlines feebly discernible by the feeble light of a partly shaded light on the wharf.
"That's my packet—the 'Lonette,'" announced Waynsford, indicating the outermost of the tier. "Mind that ladder: it's horribly slippery."
"Fine little craft," declared Terence enthusiastically, as he stepped into the diminutive cockpit of the motor-boat.
"Yes, I'm lucky to get her. One of the swiftest of the whole crowd, and a ripping sea-boat. Cast off there!" he ordered, addressing the two deckhands, who with the engineer constituted the crew of the "Lonette."
Five minutes later the "Lonette" was gliding over the sullen undulations of the North Sea, shaping a course towards the N.E. Cockle buoy, marking the edge of a dangerous bank.
A cable's length astern followed the "Pixie," another armed motor-boat detailed to act in consort with the craft under Waynsford's command. Neither vessel showed navigation lights, their position being determined by the phosphorescent swirl as they cut through the water. Overhead the stars shone dully, for a slight haze was beginning to gather.
Suddenly a dark shape loomed up in the darkness—an object that resolved itself into a large unwieldy lighter attended by a small tug which was lashed alongside.
"Shifting the buoys," explained Waynsford laconically.
"Shifting?" inquired Terence. "Surely you mean removing them altogether."
"Not much," replied his companion. "We've had orders to shift the whole lot two miles to the east'ard. Should any of these rotten German cruisers dare to come out—I don't fancy they will, worse luck—the altered position of these buoys will puzzle them a bit: unless your friend Eckenhardt has already signalled the fact to an enemy vessel."
Five minutes later the two patrol vessels ran across a number of trawlers making their way to Yarmouth. These there was no need to stop and examine. Their bona-fides were above suspicion, especially as a long, lean destroyer was steaming slowly in their wake.
For the next two hours the "Lonette" and the "Pixie" cruised between the Newarp and the Cross Sands without sighting a suspicious craft. It was now nearly dawn.
"Sleepy?" inquired Waynsford, as Aubyn stifled a yawn. "Have a caulk in the cabin: you'll find the cushions fairly comfortable, and they were well aired this morning—yesterday morning, I mean."
"Thanks, I'll stick it," replied Terence. "It's been a fairly long day, but one must get used to it."
"Trawler, or some such craft on the starboard bow, sir," announced one of the "Lonette's" crew. "She's showing no lights."
Waynsford immediately altered helm; the skipper of the "Pixie", quickly followed suit, and the two motor-boats slowed down, one on each quarter of the trawler, whose nets were out.
"Trawler, ahoy. What ship is that?" shouted Waynsford.
"Dis de 'Vanhuit' of Scheveningen, Hollander trawler," replied a voice in broken English. "We goot way outside dree mile limit, mynheer."
"Stand by with a rope, then," rejoined the skipper of the "Lonette." "We want to have a look at you."
Somewhat reluctantly the Dutchman threw a coil of rope, the end of which the bowman of the "Lonette" deftly made fast to a bollard. The "Pixie" remained a boat's length or so off.
"May as well come, Aubyn," suggested Waynsford. "A little exercise won't do you any harm." The two subs, followed by one of the crew, swarmed up the tarry side of the trawler and gained the deck.
The strange craft was of about forty tons displacement, with a considerable amount of sheer and ample beam. Steam was escaping gently through the steam-pipe, while a faint wreath of smoke drifted from her squat funnel.
"Why no lights?" inquired Waynsford.
"Accident, mynheer ver' bad accident," replied the Dutchman apologetically. "See you here."
He led the way for'ard. On the fo'c'sle were two burly fishermen holding the remains of two lanterns.
"Forestay halliard him part," explained the master. "Lights, dey come down wit a run an' broke to pieces.
"Then the sooner you send another pair of lamps aloft the better," remarked Waynsford. "Now let's have a look round below."
The Dutch skipper led the way. Aubyn lingered on the fo'c'sle. His quick eye detected something that his comrade had overlooked. The lanterns had obviously pitched on the deck, but there were no signs of oil being spilled.
At the head of the little companion ladder Waynsford paused to see if Aubyn were following. The Dutchman had already disappeared.
"Where's Mr. Aubyn?" asked the skipper of the "Lonette," addressing his deck-hand.
"For'ard, sir," replied that worthy. "I can just make him out in the dark."
"Coming below, Aubyn?" asked Waynsford, raising his voice.
"Hold hard, I want to get something out of 'Lonette's' cabin," replied Terence.
Curiosity prompted Waynsford to delay his visit below. Going for'ard he met Aubyn, who was making his way aft.
"There's something queer about this craft," remarked Terence hurriedly. "I'm going to smuggle myself on board, if you don't find anything sufficiently suspicious to justify her detention. So if you don't see me when you come on deck again, don't wait, but push off, and come back for me in a couple of hours' time. If you can get in touch with a destroyer, so much the better."
"Right-o," assented Waynsford. He was perfectly willing to allow Terence to put his plan into execution, but at the same time, his suspicions aroused, he meant to do his level best to find sufficient evidence to place the Dutch trawler under arrest. Extreme caution was necessary, since he had been specially warned not to commit anything that could be construed by a neutral state into an unfriendly act.
Without another word Waynsford descended to the cabin. With rough courtesy the Dutch skipper produced his papers, at the same time offering the boarding-officer a glass of schnapps—an invitation that was firmly yet kindly declined.
"Your papers are quite in order," announced the sub. "Perhaps you have no objection to my looking round?"
"I no objec'," declared the Dutch skipper.
Although his suspicions were aroused Sub-Lieutenant Waynsford had no fear of treachery. One of his men had accompanied him below, while in the interval a deck-hand from the "Pixie" had scrambled up the side and was pacing the "Vanhuit's" planks. The engine-room, fo'c'sle, fish-holds, and storerooms were each in turn visited, but there was apparently nothing to give rise to any question that the vessel was anything but a harmless trawler.
At length Waynsford made his way on deck. The two fishermen on the fo'c'sle were still devoting their attention to the damaged lamps. Another was leaning over the low bulwark and engaging in conversation in a queer sort of English with the crew of the "Pixie."
"Thanks, mynheer," said Waynsford. "I'll wish you good-night. Sorry to have caused you any inconvenience.
"Der vas no drouble at all," rejoined the Dutchman. "Goot-night to you."
The sub descended the side and gained the cockpit of the "Lonette." The rope was cast off and the motor-boat slipped astern. Not one word did Waynsford say until the little craft was out of hearing distance, then—
"Where's Mr. Aubyn? he asked.
"Aboard yonder packet, sir," replied the member of the crew who had been left in charge of the motorboat. "He asked me to drop a few feet astern and then he slipped up over the Dutchman's quarter. Shall I give a hail, sir?"
"No," replied Waynsford. "Easy ahead."
Upon regaining the "Lonette," Aubyn descended into the diminutive cabin and made hasty preparations for his adventure. Unbuttoning his great-coat he drew a small revolver from the inside breast pocket of his monkey-jacket. Assuring himself that it was fully loaded, the sub. thrust it into the right-hand pocket of his outer garment, then, having readjusted his muffler, rebuttoned his coat, so that the turned-up collar hid the white woollen comforter.
He felt justified in making the attempt. During his brief visit to the trawler the lack of oil from the broken lamps had first aroused his suspicions. Secondly, he had made the discovery that the foremast, although painted to resemble pitch-pine, was made of metal, and was consequently hollow. A steel mast for a vessel of that tonnage was a decided rarity, especially when the vessel was supposed to be a trawler. Consequently Aubyn had already made up his mind to investigate.
It was impracticable to give Waynsford details of his plan. Without demur the skipper of the "Lonette" had agreed to his chum's proposition—for which Terence was truly grateful. Had Waynsford been of a jealous or inquisitive disposition he might have wrecked his friend's plans. Instead he had unquestionably complied with Aubyn's wishes.
Presently Terence emerged from the cabin and peered cautiously at the high sides of the trawler. Fortunately none of the crew was visible. Six feet abaft the motor-boat's quarter the outlines of the trawler's mizzen chain-plates were just discernible in the darkness.
Softly calling to the "Lonette's" bowman, Aubyn asked him to drop a few feet astern. The man who in civil life had been a deck-hand on a crack racing-yacht, immediately did so. His wonderment at the request was overpowered by a sense of obedience acquired by years of training that demanded instant response to the order of the sailing-master.
As soon as the chain-plates came within arm's length Terence grasped the tarred lanyards and swung himself up till his head was on a level with the bulwarks. He peered cautiously along the deck. Aft the trawler was deserted. Forward the two hands were fumbling with the lanterns and the ends of the severed forestay halliard. They evidently were in no hurry to rectify the damage, Terence decided a deft-handed man could have re-spliced the rope in a quarter of the time.
Silently the sub. crawled over the bulwarks and made his way to the lee side of the engine-room coamings. Here he paused to survey the scene of action, at the same time devotedly hoping that his boots would not creak and betray his presence. From below came the guttural voice of the Dutch skipper punctuated by the clear decisive tones of Dick Waynsford. Amidships, on the port side, one of the crew, invisible from the place where Terence crouched, was still keeping up a running fire of banter with the "Pixie's" crew.
He began to unlace his boots, regretting that he had not left them on board the "Lonette." Then he remembered that if they were discovered suspicions would be aroused. He could not drop them overboard without making a splash—and the footgear had cost him a guinea a pair. Lying about on a wet deck with stockinged feet, he reflected, was a cruel job on a cold night, so he hurriedly re-tied the laces.
"It will be a ticklish job to give an account of myself if they find me," he soliloquised, "that is, if the trawler's what she pretends she is. Ten to one I'm on the right tack, though, so here goes."
On all fours he crossed the only uninterrupted part of deck space between the companion and the side of the fish-hold coaming. Here he was fairly safe from observation unless one of the for'ard hands chanced to come aft.
The fish-hold hatches occupied the greater portion of the 'midships part of the trawler. Two of the after-coverings had been removed. The others were in place, a heavy tarpaulin being loosely thrown over them, the canvas slack at the for'ard end.
Beneath this covering, and wedged in between the coaming and the deck, Aubyn crawled. Here he was within ten feet of the foremast—the object of his suspicions. Thanks to the tarpaulin he was able to keep fairly warm in his cramped quarters, while by means of a fold in the canvas he was able to command a wide view of the fore part of the vessel.
Presently he heard Waynsford and the Dutch skipper, followed by the "Lonette's" man, emerge from the cabin and make the round of the deck. Once Waynsford's foot nearly trod upon him as he crouched under the still tarpaulin. Then, after a seemingly endless delay, Terence heard the farewell greetings and the gentle purring of the "Lonette's" motors, as, followed by the "Pixie," she forged ahead, circled and was lost to hearing in the darkness.
For the next ten minutes Terence heard nothing but the heavy measured tread of the skipper of the trawler as he paced the deck. Then, stopping at the forward end of his beat, he said something in a low tone. The words were German, not Dutch—Aubyn was certain of that. Bitterly he regretted his almost total ignorance of the language of Britain's greatest foe.
Then came the clank of a steam winch. Apparently the men were hauling in their nets.
"I hope the old hooker won't make off towards the Dutch coast without the 'Lonette' spotting her," observed Aubyn. "If it come overmisty I won't give much for my chance. By Jove! I am getting stiff."
Soon the winch was stopped, and men came for'ard. Two of them stopped at the foot of the foremast and set to work silently and rapidly. Slightly raising the fold of the tarpaulin the sub. could see that they were removing a plate from the bulky steel mast. Others—for more of the crew than had previously appeared came on the scene—rove light steel wire rigging furnished with small circular objects that the sub. recognised as insulators for wireless gear.
His suspicions were well-founded. Inside the steel mast was a telescopic spar that could be hoisted thirty feet above the truck. From the head of this staff a line of light rope running through a block automatically uncoiled itself, the falls dropping on deck. To one end of this line the aerial was bent and sent aloft.
Two men then came staggering forward with a huge cask. Upon knocking off the upper and lower bands the barrel opened like an exaggerated locket—the remaining bands being dummies—and disclosed a small but powerful wireless apparatus.
Hardly pausing to weigh the consequences, the sub. threw aside the folds of the tarpaulin and sprang to his feet. A howl of rage and surprise greeted his appearance.
"Surrender!" exclaimed Aubyn sternly.
For some minutes there was a dead silence on the part of the astonished Germans, broken only by the moaning of the wind through the rigging and the lap of the water against the trawler's sides. Then, giving a hasty glance round to assure himself that no vessel was within hailing distance, and realising that the daring Englishman was alone, the skipper gave a hurried order.
The next moment Terence was confronted by the muzzles of half a dozen automatic pistols.
"Surrender yourself, Englishman," replied the skipper. "You mad; you all alone. Hands up, or you dead man."
"Perhaps," remarked Terence, with outward calmness, although he remembered with some misgivings that the hair trigger of an automatic pistol is a delicate piece of mechanism for a horny-handed seaman to play with. "If you shoot you'll make things a jolly sight worse for you than they are already. You're properly cornered. The two motor-boats are waiting a short distance off, and there's a destroyer only too ready to bear a hand."
"Vot you going der do?" asked the German, in a chastened tone.
"To summon assistance and take possession of an enemy ship. The more trouble you give, my friend, the worse it will be for you."
The skipper shrugged his shoulders, then hastily addressed his crew. The latter put up their pistols, sullenly and almost mutinously. One of the men hurried across the deck and drew a signal rocket from a locker. This he affixed to the vessel's side and produced a match.
"Stop!" exclaimed Aubyn authoritatively.
"Dies still Zherman sheep," protested the skipper.
The match flared, shielded from the wind by the partly clasped hand of the man who was holding it. In obedience to a further order he began to apply the light to the rocket.
Terence whipped out his revolver. Hitherto, realising that a premature display of the weapon might result in a volley from the hostile pistols, he had kept the weapon out of sight. Now that the crew were practically cowed that danger was over.
The seaman hesitated only for a brief instant, then ignoring the levelled weapon, bent over his task. One of his comrades chuckled derisively.
Taking a quick yet steady aim the sub. pressed the trigger. The heavy ball went true to the mark, severing the rocket-stick and causing the rocket to fall over the side. Luck more than good management had enabled him to hit a target the thickness of a lead pencil on a dark night, with only the flicker of a match to assist his aim.
"If any man attempt to go below I'll wing him—tell them that," said Terence sternly, addressing the master. "Order them to fall in on the starboard side."
All sign of resistance having disappeared the crew, ten in number, formed up at the place indicated, while Aubyn drew his cigarette case from his pocket and smoked.
It was not an act of bravado on his part. Now that the crisis was over he had an uncontrollable craving for a cigarette. So he smoked contentedly as he awaited the return of the "Lonette" and her consort.
He had not long to wait. Already grey dawn was breaking. The wind had dropped, and the short steep waves had subsided into a sullen roll. Long before the two motor-boats came into view the purr of the engines and the muffled roar of their exhausts could be distinctly heard in the still morning air.
"I thought the fellows had potted you when I heard that shot," exclaimed Waynsford, as he clambered over the side. "Well done, old man," he added cordially, as his glance fell upon the tell-tale wireless gear.
"You might send 'Pixie' to bring up the destroyer," suggested Aubyn. "It will save a lot of trouble if she tows this packet into port. Tell her to give the destroyer the tip: there may be German submarines about."
"What makes you think that?" asked Waynsford.
"The anxiety on the part of one of those fellows to let off a rocket. I'm glad I was able to stop his little game."
"How?"
"Oh, a pot-shot at five yards—sent the rocket-stick flying out of his hands. Wonder I didn't hit him."
"Serve him jolly well right if you had," added Waynsford. Already he was fairly conversant with German methods of kultur in connexion with nautical affairs, and to him every Teuton appeared in the light of a skulking treacherous foe.
"'Pixie,' ahoy!" he shouted, addressing his consort, which had now slowed down about half a cable's length away on the port quarter. "Get into touch with that destroyer: she's heading our way. Inform her commanding officer that we suspect hostile submarines in the vicinity."
Already the vessel indicated—H.M.T.B.D. "Lawley"—was within three miles of the captured trawler, and at a good twenty-five knots was momentarily decreasing the distance. Her lynx-eyed lieutenant-commander had spotted the so-called "Vanhuit," and the tell-tale wireless mast, and the presence of one of the patrolling motor-boats alongside gave him a right impression that the trawler had been engaged in illegal work.
The "Lawley" made a fine picture as she pelted through the leaden-hued water on that grey autumnal morning. She was cleared for action. Men were standing by the three 4-inch guns ready to let fly at the first sign of a hostile periscope, for German submarines had been reported in the vicinity of Yarmouth Roads, and each of her mast-heads had the White Ensign floating proudly in the breeze created by her speed. The bunting was the only dash of colour about her; all the rest of the destroyer was a sombre hue, from the black hull and funnels to the great-coated forms of the crew.
The skipper of the "Pixie," balancing himself on the cabin-top of his lively craft, was semaphoring the warning. Almost as soon as his message ended a triangular strip of bunting—the answering pennant—was hoisted to the "Lawley's" signal yard-arm. Then, by means of a megaphone, the lieutenant-commander shouted to the crew of the "Pixie." The words were unintelligible to the watchers on the captured trawler, but the skipper of the "Pixie" understood. With a wave of his arm he descended from his precarious perch just in time to prevent himself being capsized by the swell of the passing destroyer, which, instead of making for the trawler, sharply ported helm and made off in the opposite direction.
"We're to take the prize into Yarmouth under our own steam," announced the sub. in charge of the "Pixie," as he came within hailing distance.
"Right-o," assented Waynsford cheerfully. "Come aboard and we'll tow both our boats. Now then, below there," he added, addressing the German skipper and his crestfallen men.
Waynsford literally hustled them into the forepeak and shut the hatch. The German engineer and the fireman required no compulsion to remain at their posts. In one sense they were glad at being captured; it meant the end of the nerve-racking ordeal within sight of the English coast and miles of mine-strewn waters—the work of their fellow-countrymen—between them and their Friesian home.
The crew of the motor-boats quickly buoyed and severed the nets that the pseudo-trawler had out to cloak her true rôle, and having drifted clear of these entanglements, the captured craft forged ahead at a modest seven knots with the "Lonette" and "Pixie" towing sedately astern.
Terence Aubyn, feeling somewhat heavy-eyed by reason of his voluntary night's work, was pacing the deck, his gaze directed towards the town of Yarmouth and the low-lying Norfolk coast, now momentarily becoming clearer in the rays of the early morning sun.
Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a hurried shout from one of the deck-hands, followed by a heavy list of the trawler as Waynsford put the helm hard over.
Fifty yards on the starboard bow was a black object resembling a short spar floating vertically, yet the object had movement, for a streak of foam marked the resistance of the water to its progress.
It was Aubyn's first impression of the periscope of a submarine, and a German one at that.
With admirable presence of mind Waynsford had decided to ram the lurking peril. Evidently the commander of the submarine had realized his danger, for the periscope was sinking.
Aubyn held his breath as the heavy hull of the trawler passed immediately over the spot where the periscope had disappeared. He waited for the dull grinding sound as the vessel's keel ripped through the comparatively thin steel hull of the submerged vessel—but he waited in vain. True, there was a slight tremor—nothing more.
"I believe we hit her," exclaimed Waynsford. "Did your hear anything?"
Aubyn was obliged to confess that he had not. The prize crew crowding to the side looked for signs of a successful issue to their effort.
"Oil and bubbles," declared the sub. in charge of the "Pixie." "She's done for."
Waynsford, far from being convinced, ordered one of his men to heave a mark-buoy overboard and mark the spot where the periscope had been last seen, at the same time a code signal was hoisted indicating the fact that a hostile submarine had been rammed.
Quickly the destroyer arrived within hailing distance, and Aubyn was able to see what steps the Navy took to combat the unseen foe. Slowly the "Lawley" circled round the mark-buoy, paying out over her stern what appeared to be an exaggerated string of sausages—in reality a "necklace" of guncotton ready to be fired by means of electricity.
"Prize ahoy! you're much too close," sang out the bronzed lieutenant-commander impatiently.
Before the trawler was a cable's length from the mark-buoy a series of columns of water rose two hundred feet in the air, accompanied by a muffled crash and a haze of smoke. When the water had subsided and the vapour had drifted on the light breeze the mark-buoy was no longer to be seen. All around were the bodies of fish killed by the submarine explosion.
"That's settled her hash," declared Waynsford. "If she survived the hit we gave her she didn't get over that little attention. See, the 'Lawley' is sending a diver down to report."
"More copy for the Press," remarked his chum, the sub. from the "Pixie."
Waynsford shook his head.
"Not much," he replied. "It's part of the game to keep this sort of thing quiet. We don't want to frighten our friends the German submarines, we want to lure them out and make an end of 'em."
Terence made no remark. He was thinking, striving to picture the shattered hull with its crew of corpses, lying fifteen fathoms below on the sandy bed of the North Sea.
Half an hour later the prize was moored alongside one of the Yarmouth quays, while the German crew were marched off under an armed guard.
Declining an invitation to breakfast with the naval officers of the port, Aubyn hurried ashore. It was now six o'clock. Already a wireless report had been received from the "Lawley" stating that her divers had discovered the wreck of the hostile submarine, which was a matter for congratulation. But there were no tidings of the spy von Eckenhardt. In spite of a rigorous search he had contrived to get clear away, and von Eckenhardt at liberty in in England was a more serious menace than a dozen German submarines operating in British waters.
"I say, mater," remarked Terence, while Mrs. Aubyn and her son were at breakfast, "I think you ought to evacuate 'Aubyn's Battery '—at least while the war lasts."
Mrs. Aubyn looked at her son in utter astonishment.
"What, leave my home? For why? Surely you don't mean to suggest that German troops are likely to land in England?"
Terence shook his head. He scouted the idea of invasion, yet he knew there was a possibility—that a raiding squadron might visit the Norfolk coast.
"No, I was thinking of the winter coming on," he said equivocally. "You see, it's rather bleak and lonely for you here. Why not shut the house up for the next six months and go and live with Aunt Margaret?"
Mrs. Aubyn wavered. Her sister had a large house at Purbrook, a few miles from Portsmouth. It certainly would be a pleasant change to spend the winter in the south of England with her nearest relative rather than exist in solitary state in her home on the bleak East Coast.
"Besides," continued her son, taking advantage of his parent's obvious wavering, "the 'Strongbow'—that's the new name for the old 'Saraband'—is fitting out of Portsmouth, and more than likely she'll make that place here home port. In that case, whenever we put in for supplies or refit, I ought to be able to see you pretty frequently."
The explanation was a lame one. Terence knew perfectly well that on being commissioned the "Strongbow" would proceed to the North Sea for patrol-work. Her connexion with Portsmouth would then be severed. But to his satisfaction Mrs. Aubyn figuratively hauled down her colours.
A telegram was despatched to her sister, accepting a long-standing invitation, and at the expiration of his week-end leave, Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn was accompanied by his mother on his journey to Portsmouth to rejoin his ship.
Three days later the "Strongbow," looking most business-like in her garb of neutral grey, slipped unostentatiously between the old fortifications at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbour, negotiated the narrow gateway of the boom-defence, and in the pale dawn of a misty October day shaped her course for the North Sea.
She was one of perhaps a hundred vessels of whose very existence not decimal one per cent of the population of Great Britain is aware. Unless a striking success or a lamentable disaster brings them into the limelight the great British public never hear their names. Yet every one of that vast fleet of armed merchantmen was doing its duty as a unit of the greatest Navy the world has ever yet seen, nobly performing a service whereby the United Kingdom is spared the horror of the yoke-mate of war—the scourge of famine.
The "Strongbow" carried the same officers as in the days when she sailed under the Red Ensign, while in command was a full-fledged naval officer, Captain Hugh Ripponden.
Captain Ripponden was one of those men who welcomed the outbreak of hostilities as a godsend. July found him in a hopeless position as regards seniority on the list of commanders. The prospect of compulsory retirement at the age of fifty stared him in the face. By sheer merit and perseverance he had attained his present position, but unfortunately he lacked the necessary influence "up topsides" to gain an additional advance in rank.
The absorption into the Service of a fleet of armed merchantmen proved to be his salvation from a distasteful retirement, and thus he found himself in command of H.M.S. "Strongbow."
Like many another talented naval officer Captain Ripponden had not the gift of eloquence. He was a man of few words. A speech was beyond his powers.
While the crew of H.M.S. "Strongbow" first mustered for Divisions after commissioning the captain's address was short and to the point:—
"My lads, you look a smart crew. If you are as smart as you look, I'll be quite satisfied. Now dismiss."
He was quite right in saying the ship's company were a smart body of men. In spite of the fact that they were made up of Royal Naval Reserve men, Royal Fleet Reservists, and a sprinkling of Royal Naval Volunteers, they presented an appearance that would defy criticism even from the oldest martinet in the days when a smart lower-yard man was considered as a greater asset to a ship's company than a good gun-layer.
The officers of the "Strongbow," from Captain Ramshaw (who now assumed the rank of Commander, R.N.R.) downwards, quickly voted the new skipper "a right good sort," while it did not take the crew long to form the current opinion that "the owner" was a man who, not shirking work himself, expected others to do their utmost. On board H.M.S. "Strongbow" there was no room for shirkers or grousers.
Before the vessel passed the Nab Lightship practically the whole of the Naval Volunteers—men of good position in civil life, whose previous acquaintance with King Neptune's domains was a view from the deck of the "President" lying off Temple Pier—were prostrate with sea-sickness.
Captain Ripponden received the report that ten of his crew were temporarily hors de combat with equanimity.
"Let the men lie in their hammocks," he replied considerately. "They'll be all the better for it when they recover their sea-legs."
Therein he was right, and before the "Strongbow" arrived at her cruising-station the Volunteers were as fit and as eager as the rest of their comrades for the arduous work on hand.