CHAPTER XXXIII.MAX RENOUNCES THE FATHERLAND.Max Hilliger was now alone in the submarine's conning-tower and in charge of its controls. He was shaking violently as he began to realise the horror of what he had done.He had deliberately fired a bullet into the heart of his superior officer, who had also been his companion and his friend. It was a terrible thing to have done; yet he believed that the act was justified. He only regretted that he had not committed it sooner, before Hermann Körner had had time to give the fatal command for the discharging of the torpedo.Had he done so, had he fired his shot at the right instant, how many hundreds of precious lives he might have saved! He would have had no haunting regrets in taking one man's life, if by taking it he had been able to prevent a far greater crime.What he had seen in the mirror of the periscope was far more awful than the sight of Hermann Körner's dead body. That the great liner was doomed he could have no possible doubt. He had heard the explosion as the torpedo struck its intended mark. He had seen the immense vessel heeling over, the passengers thronging her decks and scrambling for the boats.There were no other ships in sight to rush to the rescue. He, Max Hilliger, himself, could do nothing to help. Even if the U50 had been capable of picking up survivors, he was well aware that, in spite of their peril, there was not a soul in that sinking leviathan who would accept help from a German submarine.Steadying himself, he took Lieutenant Körner's place and gave the command for the U50 to dive. Below in the engine-room they seemed not to have heard the sharp report of his automatic pistol, or, if they had heard it, they probably attributed the sound to some ordinary and innocent cause. But at length the quarter-master, who had been occupied in the torpedo chamber, climbed up the communication hatch to inquire into the result of the attempt upon the great liner."What luck, Herr Körner?" he cried excitedly. "We have struck her—yes?" He crawled into the conning-tower and at the top of the ladder stumbled over the body of the dead commander. "Ach!" he ejaculated in consternation. "What is this? What is this?"The submarine was going down at a sharp angle, propelled by her electric motors. Max Hilliger remained at his post to give the signal when she should be deep enough, and to control the steering gear.By the light from an electric bulb the quartermaster saw the commander's body lying grimly motionless at his feet. At first he believed it was Max Hilliger, but he was quickly undeceived. Hilliger was still at work among the instruments and switches where a few minutes earlier Hermann Körner had been. And now Hermann Körner lay dead!"There has been an accident?" the quartermaster questioned in agitation. "How did it happen, Herr Hilliger?"Max Hilliger rang the telegraph indicator to the engine-room, he adjusted the rudders, and turned round to answer nervously and in a trembling voice:"No. It was not an accident. I have killed him. I need not tell you why. You know. You heard me warn him that if he touched that lever I would shoot him. You had better send up one of the other officers to take command and make me your prisoner. I will suffer the punishment for what I have done."The quarter-master glanced swiftly at the dead officer and then back again at Hilliger. "You killed him!" he cried in amazement. "You!"He was staring at the Iron Cross on the midshipman's breast. Max was conscious of the fixed gaze, and his hand went up to the decoration. He gripped it in his fingers, and tearing it off, threw the medal contemptuously from him."But he was your friend," continued the quartermaster. "He was your superior officer. He was doing his duty to the Fatherland. He was obeying his orders!""He was not bound to obey an order to take the lives of hundreds of innocent people—peaceful, unarmed travellers," Max objected warmly."But you did not prevent him," rejoined the quarter-master. "The torpedo was discharged. I, myself, discharged it.""Yes, unfortunately it was discharged." Max nodded gravely. "It was discharged, and it struck the target at which it was aimed. Even at this moment that great ship is sinking and her passengers and crew are struggling to save themselves.""That is good," said the quarter-master with a chuckle of satisfaction. "It is a blow from which our English enemies will not soon recover. The whole world will now know that our enterprising submarines are more powerful than all Great Britain's boasted battleships." He returned to the engine-room and told his expectant companions that the mighty Atlantic liner had been sent to the bottom. They cheered noisily and started singing, and their singing and cheering only ceased when they learned that their commander was dead.Many of them deserted their stations to make a rush at Max Hilliger. They called him an assassin, a traitor. They declared that he was at heart a contemptible Englishman, and that he ought never to have been allowed to enter the Kaiser's navy.But while they clamoured for his life they realised that in their present situation they could not well do without him. There was only one other of their officers capable of assuming the command and navigating them home—a sub-lieutenant named Adolf von Wiebe. It was necessary, therefore, that Max Hilliger should continue to act as an officer, taking watch and watch about with Lieutenant von Wiebe, until they should join the main fleet beyond Heligoland, and hand him over for punishment."In the meantime," said Lieutenant von Wiebe, "you will consider yourself under arrest.""Naturally," returned Max. "And you need not suppose that I wish to escape the penalty for what I have done. I told Hermann Körner that if he fired that torpedo I would shoot him. Instead of warning him I ought to have shot him as soon as I knew that the liner had come in sight. It was he who was the murderer, not I.""He did his duty," argued Wiebe. "He obeyed his instructions. It was to sink that liner that we came out here into the open sea. The whole thing was planned and arranged weeks ago. The owners of the ship were warned. The passengers were told before they left America that they would sail in that steamer at their own risk. The captain could have escaped us if he had taken a different course. Why did not the British Navy protect her by sending a cruiser convoy with her?""Because," Max reported, "the British Navy trusted that Germany had still a little honour and humanity left, and that no German submarine commander would be so brutal and cowardly as to fire a torpedo into an unarmed passenger steamer, carrying neutral Americans and women and little children. But that is where Great Britain and all other civilised nations have made the mistake. They have given Germany more credit than she deserved. She has no honour and no humanity, but only deceit and falsehood and cruelty.""Be careful what you are saying," cautioned Lieutenant von Wiebe. "Remember that we are at war, and that our whole existence as a nation depends upon our conquest of Great Britain.""War?" rejoined Max. "But war has its laws as well as peace. We Germans have broken those laws. Our enemies—Russia, France, and Great Britain—are playing the game fairly and honestly; but we are not. You know this as well as I do, only you shut your eyes to it all. From the very start, when we invaded Belgium, we've been worse than savages, robbing and murdering peaceful citizens, destroying their beautiful cathedrals, wrecking their homes. We've gone out of our way to bombard unfortified towns; we've hit below the belt. When we couldn't break through our enemies' lines, we have forced them back by using poison gas; when we've been too cowardly to engage their battleships in open fight we have sunk their merchant vessels and helpless fishing boats. And now there is this greatest crime of all—the sinking of theRuritania. I tell you, Adolf, I am sick of it all, and I hope, as I firmly believe, that Germany will be beaten."Adolf von Wiebe forced himself to laugh."You are hoping for the impossible," he said. "Germany can never be beaten. Do you think that we have been preparing for this war all these years only to be defeated in the end? Why, this very sinking of the liner—one of the biggest ships that ever sailed the seas—is a proof of our power. As for Great Britain—she is not worth talking about. You, who have lived in England, should know better than to imagine that she could have a ghost of a chance against so mighty an empire as ours! Sooner than you suppose, Great Britain will have ceased to exist.""It is because I have lived in England that I am so sure that she will be victorious," persisted Max. "And if I could escape——""Escape? Escape from a submarine? Oh, no, I shall see to it that you don't escape, my fine fellow! You are as safe here as if you were imprisoned in a fortress. And since you cannot escape, there is no need to put you in irons. I will allow you to continue with your duties, and, notwithstanding your silly prejudices and scruples, I shall trust you not to put any obstacles in our way when it is a question of sinking a few more ships. We still have some torpedoes left, and I intend to use them.""We shall need more petrol," Max told him sullenly."That will be forthcoming," returned Lieutenant von Wiebe. "A supply ship will meet us.""Where?" Max asked."Never mind where. It is perhaps as well that you should be kept in ignorance of the situation."Max could only very vaguely guess at the course which the U50 was now taking. He was not allowed to handle the charts or to know more than the general direction as indicated by the compass, which usually pointed northward.As previously arranged, the submarine's two consorts separated from her when theRuritaniahad been dealt with. Their instructions were that they were to proceed across the Bay of Biscay and through the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean to attack British and French warships operating in the Dardanelles; but the U50 had not been fitted for so long a voyage.As much as possible she was kept submerged, or with only her periscopes above the surface. No ships were chased or attacked. It seemed to Max that it was the purpose of Lieutenant von Wiebe to get as far away as possible from the scene of the foundering of theRuritania, and to avoid all accidents which might bring him under suspicion of having been concerned in that disaster.Once, when the submarine was passing abreast of a wild, rocky coast, Max was at the periscope. In the mirror he saw reflected the grey shape of a small British cruiser lying at anchor within easy torpedo range.In ordinary circumstances he would have rejoiced at the opportunity of doing damage to an enemy ship; he would instantly have commanded the crew to their firing stations and manoeuvred to take aim.But now he told himself that, as he was practically a condemned prisoner, a mutineer who had disavowed his loyalty to Germany, it was no longer a part of his duty even to report the fact that the cruiser was within striking distance. So he kept silent, and the U50 proceeded on her secret way, and Max Hilliger was never suspected of his duplicity.On the following morning he heard the chief engineer announcing to the commander that they were becoming perilously short of petrol. Lieutenant von Wiebe showed no concern."Within two hours," he said, "we shall be in touch with the supply ship. We will creep into one of these bays and get into communication with our wireless."And in the stated time the Marconi aerials were at work.CHAPTER XXXIV.THE SUPPLY SHIP.The British cruiser which Max Hilliger had seen through the periscope of the U50 was H.M.S.Dauntless. She had been on coast patrol duty for some days in northern waters, watching for neutral ships and boarding them to examine their papers and inquire into the nature of their cargoes.Most of them had given a satisfactory account of themselves, and had been allowed to pass on to their intended destinations. But one of them, an old green-painted barque flying the Swedish flag, had at once aroused suspicion by the fact that she was fitted with wireless aerials.A shot was fired across her bow, and she shortened sail. Captain Damant sent a boat aboard of her in charge of a second lieutenant, who was accompanied by Midshipman Rodney Redisham.Rodney Redisham read the nameOlaf Triggvasonon the vessel's side, but he did not take any great interest in her while he waited for the lieutenant's return into the boat. The examination seemed to take an unusually long time, and he wondered if anything contraband had been discovered.Presently the lieutenant appeared in the open gangway, and began to signal back by semaphore to theDauntless. Rodney understood the message that was sent. It was that a quantity of naphtha and benzine had been discovered in the barque's cargo; that the captain was a German, and that his secret purpose was to supply a German submarine, which he confessed that he expected.An answer came back from the cruiser:"Stay where you are, and we will come alongside."TheDauntlesssteamed slowly up, and the German captain was taken on board of her as a prisoner, to be interrogated by Captain Damant. Shortly afterwards the whole of the crew were taken off and sent below into the seamen's quarters.The proceedings were quite unusual, and Rodney Redisham did not understand them. Enlightenment came to him, however, when, instead of the barque's own crew, the same number of British seamen dressed up in the foreigners' clothes were put on board theOlaf. He himself was ordered to exchange his midshipman's uniform for canvas breeches and an engineer's jumper. Two lieutenants were similarly disguised, and put in command of the barque.Rodney began to experience the excitement of a prospective adventure. The excitement was increased when three machine guns were transferred from theDauntlessto the decks of theOlaf Triggvason.When all was ready the cruiser steamed away and the barque's sails were braced. Her German captain, under pressure, had given the bearings of the spot near which he had been instructed to lie in wait for the submarine, and for this spot the course was set.It was in a secluded bay between two barren headlands, far away from any habitation. Outside this bay the vessel tacked to and fro and back and forth; but there was no sign of any submarine.At the end of the first day the senior lieutenant shook his head and declared his belief that the German captain had deceived them. He anchored, knowing that no submarine would expect to find the ship in darkness. But at dawn he again set sail, and cruised within a radius of about a dozen miles. Returning towards the headlands at noon he was about to tack out again when his Marconi operator called him below. Some ship was trying to open communications.The lieutenant went to the instrument-room, and a message came to him in international code asking the name of his ship. He purposely delayed his answer until the question had been repeated several times, then, giving the name of the ship, he added a guarded question in German.There was no response for a long time; but he waited patiently, and at length a series of searching questions came to him as though they were from a British warship, demanding to know his exact position and destination and the nature of his cargo.He knew perfectly well that there was no British warship, excepting theDauntless, within twenty miles of him, but he answered with all the cunning which would enable his questioner to understand that the way was clear. Already he was convinced that he was speaking with the commander of a German submarine, and at length came the message:"All right. I am the U50. I am short of oil. Stay where you are, and I will come alongside you within an hour."That hour gave the lieutenant ample time in which to prepare a surprise for his expected visitor, to keep his men out of sight beside their concealed guns, and to place the ship in such a position that the guns would cover the submarine when it should rise to the surface and come alongside. He kept the Swedish flag flying, but had a British ensign ready to take its place at the appropriate moment.Rodney Redisham, leaning lazily over the rail at the break of the poop, was the first to discover the movement of the submarine's periscope along the sea's ruffled surface. It was approaching on the starboard side. He reported to the lieutenant, and the helm was put over, so that the barque fell off the wind and lay with her sails swaying empty. The side gangway was opened. Then the submarine, drawing nearer, rose to the surface until her whole length was visible from stem to stern.Lieutenant von Wiebe and the quarter-master stepped out on the conning-tower platform, and a gang of seamen emerged from the forward hatchway to be ready to take in the new supply of oil.As they drew closer, steering to come alongside, Wiebe shouted a greeting to theOlaf Triggvason, and a couple of English sailors, looking very like Germans, climbing up the main shrouds, waved their arms and cried aloud:"Hoch! Hoch!"Slowing down, the submarine drifted nearer, until only a few yards of clear, green water separated her from the barque. More of her crew clambered out upon her long, narrow deck, with Max Hilliger in their midst.Max had discarded his naval uniform. He was barefooted and bareheaded, and wore only a pair of greasy serge trousers and a grey flannel shirt.Suddenly the Swedish flag was hauled down from the barque's mizzen, and the British ensign was run up in its place. From the opening of the gangway the shining barrel of a machine-gun was thrust out, two machine-guns appeared between gaps in the poop rail, and along the starboard bulwarks half a dozen British bluejackets levelled their rifles at the German commander and his men. The senior lieutenant, no longer disguised, but in the honourable uniform of a British officer, stood forward at the gangway."You will surrender, or I shall sink you," he commanded calmly, as if he were merely giving instructions as to how the submarine should come closer alongside.Adolf von Wiebe shrank back like an animal at bay, and glanced agitatedly from side to side for a means of escape. But there was none. He could not submerge; he could not take flight. It was useless to think of fighting, and the three quick-firing guns, as well as half a dozen rifles, were levelled menacingly at his ship and his men and himself. It is clear that he had no alternative but to yield.He shrugged his shoulders in abject despair."Ja wohl," he responded, with a forced laugh. "You 'ave shove me in ver' difficult corner,mein Herr. It is no good. Ze game is hup. I surrender. I mek ze salute."Drawing his bare feet together and standing very upright, he raised his hand to his cap in formal German fashion, and his crew, one and all, followed his example."And now, vot next, if you please?" he asked."You will bring your crew on board here," he was told. "Within an hour a British cruiser will be with us to take possession of your submarine."Ropes were thrown across, and when a gang plank was in place the thirty German prisoners marched disconsolately on board the barque.The last in the file was Max Hilliger. As he passed by Rodney Redisham he gave a start of recognition."Hullo!" he cried, lifting his hand to his forehead. "I'm glad to see an English face again—one that I know. You have outwitted us this time very cleverly, but quite honestly. The English are always honest. They always play the game." And, lowering his voice, he added, "I wish I could say the same of the Germans.""But you oughtn't to be disloyal to your own people," said Redisham."I can't help it," returned Max, standing in front of the midshipman. "I've been mistaken in them all along, and I've had enough of them. You see, I went to school in England, and that has made a heap of difference.""Yes, and you became a Sea Scout," nodded Redisham, slowly putting out his hand.Max Hilliger looked down at it, and shook his head."That's just like you," he said, "offering to shake hands with a beaten enemy. You're very good, but I can't do it. I am not worthy to take the hand of an English gentleman. My own isn't clean enough."He was remembering what had happened in the conning-tower of the submarine. He was remembering how he had taken part in many an act of piracy against British ships, and his heart was heavy with remorse. He turned away, and walked aft. Rodney Redisham watched him, and wondered if his apparent humility were genuine.Max Hilliger made his way to the poop, climbed the companion ladder, and continued his way to the taffrail. For a moment it seemed to Redisham that he was about to fling himself overboard, and so escape the payment as a prisoner of war.Max turned and strode back to the binnacle, stood beside it, and then lifted his eyes to the ensign fluttering proudly in the breeze. He glanced round to assure himself that he was not being watched, and then, alone and, as he believed, unseen, he raised his hand to the salute.CHAPTER XXXV.PRISONERS OF WAR."Hurry up, Newruck, or we shall not get out of harbour until this ship comes in. Bring along that hamper."Scoutmaster Arnold Bilverstone was taking the Lion Patrol out for a two days' cruise in their cutter. They had intended to be away for a week, but Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole could not spare so much time. They had both been appointed to a new trawler to go on active service. They were not supposed to talk about it, but the whole patrol knew that the destination of their two lucky companions was the Dardanelles, where they were to engage in the work of sweeping for German and Turkish mines.Naturally they were very much envied. They would cross the Bay of Biscay, and see the Rock of Gibraltar. They would steam the whole length of the Mediterranean, and perhaps even go as far as Constantinople. There were glorious possibilities in the adventure, but more than all was the chance they would have of really helping in the war and watching theQueen Elizabethfiring her great fifteen-inch guns into the Turkish forts.Compared with such prospects, a trip in theBe Preparedwas a very small affair indeed."I'm afraid we are too late already, sir," said Darby Catchpole, looking out through the harbour mouth to where a panting tug boat was bringing in a strange-looking, green-painted barque.Mark Redisham followed his glance."She's a foreigner," he decided, "and yet she's flying the British flag! How's that? Hullo! look, Mr. Bilverstone! There's a naval officer on her poop deck, and there are some of our bluejackets among her crew."Mr. Bilverstone was so much interested in the vessel that he stepped out on to the quay and strode along towards the end of the pier. Presently he signalled to the Scouts to join him."I expect she's been captured," he said, as the barque came nearer. "Perhaps she has been caught carrying contraband of war."The tug glided in between the piers, and as the barque followed at the end of the towing warp Mark read the nameOlaf Triggvasonon her green-painted side. Looking down on her main deck he saw a crowd of foreign sailors lying or seated on the hatch cover, guarded by armed bluejackets. Some of them looked like officers; others were dressed as naval seamen."Prisoners of war," said Mr. Bilverstone.Then he leant forward more eagerly. One of the prisoners, the youngest and most ragged of the lot, had stood up on the hatch cover. He looked across at the group on the quay, and smiled wanly as he raised his hand to the Scout's salute."Why, it's Max Hilliger!" cried Darby Catchpole. "And the others must be his shipmates off the submarine! Let us wait and see them brought ashore."TheOlaf Triggvasonwas warped alongside the pier before being taken through the bridge into the inner harbour. Officers from the naval base went aboard. As soon as it became known in the port that a captive ship had been brought in many of the townspeople thronged to the pier, but Police-constable Challis drove them back, and a barrier was drawn across.In the meantime, Midshipman Rodney Redisham had stepped ashore from the barque to greet his brother Mark."So you've sunk a submarine?" said Mark."We may have captured one," returned Rodney."It was the U50 of course," pursued Mark. "You've got Max Hilliger a prisoner. It's a good thing to have put an end to the U50. She's done a lot of damage one way and another.""Most of the German submarine commanders have tried to do that," said Rodney. "I suppose it was their duty. You can't blame the officers. They've got to obey their sailing orders.""What, even when they're told to sink such a ship as theRuritania?" questioned Darby Catchpole."Oh, but Max Hilliger was never concerned with a crime like that!" declared Mark Redisham."I should hope not," added his brother. "From what I know of him I believe he'd sooner go on strike than have a hand in sinking any but enemy ships of war. But, of course, we've never asked them any questions."He paused for a moment, and then added:"I've had several talks with Max Hilliger, and he isn't a bad sort of chap at heart. He's a German, but I believe he'd much rather fight for our King than for the Kaiser.""Strictly between ourselves," interposed Constable Challis, "I don't think he'll have a chance of fightin' for either.""Ah, they're being brought ashore now!" said Mr. Bilverstone. "I expect they're going off by the 3-20 train to one of the concentration camps. Attention, Scouts!"The troop stood in line, and as the prisoners marched by, Max Hilliger walked with his head bowed and his hand raised to his cap. Suddenly he stopped and looked round at his former companions."It's jolly good of you chaps not to mock and jeer at me," he said bravely; "but I may tell you that I am glad to be here—back again in England. And—and," he stammered, "God save the King."*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKDREADNOUGHTS OF THE DOGGER***
CHAPTER XXXIII.
MAX RENOUNCES THE FATHERLAND.
Max Hilliger was now alone in the submarine's conning-tower and in charge of its controls. He was shaking violently as he began to realise the horror of what he had done.
He had deliberately fired a bullet into the heart of his superior officer, who had also been his companion and his friend. It was a terrible thing to have done; yet he believed that the act was justified. He only regretted that he had not committed it sooner, before Hermann Körner had had time to give the fatal command for the discharging of the torpedo.
Had he done so, had he fired his shot at the right instant, how many hundreds of precious lives he might have saved! He would have had no haunting regrets in taking one man's life, if by taking it he had been able to prevent a far greater crime.
What he had seen in the mirror of the periscope was far more awful than the sight of Hermann Körner's dead body. That the great liner was doomed he could have no possible doubt. He had heard the explosion as the torpedo struck its intended mark. He had seen the immense vessel heeling over, the passengers thronging her decks and scrambling for the boats.
There were no other ships in sight to rush to the rescue. He, Max Hilliger, himself, could do nothing to help. Even if the U50 had been capable of picking up survivors, he was well aware that, in spite of their peril, there was not a soul in that sinking leviathan who would accept help from a German submarine.
Steadying himself, he took Lieutenant Körner's place and gave the command for the U50 to dive. Below in the engine-room they seemed not to have heard the sharp report of his automatic pistol, or, if they had heard it, they probably attributed the sound to some ordinary and innocent cause. But at length the quarter-master, who had been occupied in the torpedo chamber, climbed up the communication hatch to inquire into the result of the attempt upon the great liner.
"What luck, Herr Körner?" he cried excitedly. "We have struck her—yes?" He crawled into the conning-tower and at the top of the ladder stumbled over the body of the dead commander. "Ach!" he ejaculated in consternation. "What is this? What is this?"
The submarine was going down at a sharp angle, propelled by her electric motors. Max Hilliger remained at his post to give the signal when she should be deep enough, and to control the steering gear.
By the light from an electric bulb the quartermaster saw the commander's body lying grimly motionless at his feet. At first he believed it was Max Hilliger, but he was quickly undeceived. Hilliger was still at work among the instruments and switches where a few minutes earlier Hermann Körner had been. And now Hermann Körner lay dead!
"There has been an accident?" the quartermaster questioned in agitation. "How did it happen, Herr Hilliger?"
Max Hilliger rang the telegraph indicator to the engine-room, he adjusted the rudders, and turned round to answer nervously and in a trembling voice:
"No. It was not an accident. I have killed him. I need not tell you why. You know. You heard me warn him that if he touched that lever I would shoot him. You had better send up one of the other officers to take command and make me your prisoner. I will suffer the punishment for what I have done."
The quarter-master glanced swiftly at the dead officer and then back again at Hilliger. "You killed him!" he cried in amazement. "You!"
He was staring at the Iron Cross on the midshipman's breast. Max was conscious of the fixed gaze, and his hand went up to the decoration. He gripped it in his fingers, and tearing it off, threw the medal contemptuously from him.
"But he was your friend," continued the quartermaster. "He was your superior officer. He was doing his duty to the Fatherland. He was obeying his orders!"
"He was not bound to obey an order to take the lives of hundreds of innocent people—peaceful, unarmed travellers," Max objected warmly.
"But you did not prevent him," rejoined the quarter-master. "The torpedo was discharged. I, myself, discharged it."
"Yes, unfortunately it was discharged." Max nodded gravely. "It was discharged, and it struck the target at which it was aimed. Even at this moment that great ship is sinking and her passengers and crew are struggling to save themselves."
"That is good," said the quarter-master with a chuckle of satisfaction. "It is a blow from which our English enemies will not soon recover. The whole world will now know that our enterprising submarines are more powerful than all Great Britain's boasted battleships." He returned to the engine-room and told his expectant companions that the mighty Atlantic liner had been sent to the bottom. They cheered noisily and started singing, and their singing and cheering only ceased when they learned that their commander was dead.
Many of them deserted their stations to make a rush at Max Hilliger. They called him an assassin, a traitor. They declared that he was at heart a contemptible Englishman, and that he ought never to have been allowed to enter the Kaiser's navy.
But while they clamoured for his life they realised that in their present situation they could not well do without him. There was only one other of their officers capable of assuming the command and navigating them home—a sub-lieutenant named Adolf von Wiebe. It was necessary, therefore, that Max Hilliger should continue to act as an officer, taking watch and watch about with Lieutenant von Wiebe, until they should join the main fleet beyond Heligoland, and hand him over for punishment.
"In the meantime," said Lieutenant von Wiebe, "you will consider yourself under arrest."
"Naturally," returned Max. "And you need not suppose that I wish to escape the penalty for what I have done. I told Hermann Körner that if he fired that torpedo I would shoot him. Instead of warning him I ought to have shot him as soon as I knew that the liner had come in sight. It was he who was the murderer, not I."
"He did his duty," argued Wiebe. "He obeyed his instructions. It was to sink that liner that we came out here into the open sea. The whole thing was planned and arranged weeks ago. The owners of the ship were warned. The passengers were told before they left America that they would sail in that steamer at their own risk. The captain could have escaped us if he had taken a different course. Why did not the British Navy protect her by sending a cruiser convoy with her?"
"Because," Max reported, "the British Navy trusted that Germany had still a little honour and humanity left, and that no German submarine commander would be so brutal and cowardly as to fire a torpedo into an unarmed passenger steamer, carrying neutral Americans and women and little children. But that is where Great Britain and all other civilised nations have made the mistake. They have given Germany more credit than she deserved. She has no honour and no humanity, but only deceit and falsehood and cruelty."
"Be careful what you are saying," cautioned Lieutenant von Wiebe. "Remember that we are at war, and that our whole existence as a nation depends upon our conquest of Great Britain."
"War?" rejoined Max. "But war has its laws as well as peace. We Germans have broken those laws. Our enemies—Russia, France, and Great Britain—are playing the game fairly and honestly; but we are not. You know this as well as I do, only you shut your eyes to it all. From the very start, when we invaded Belgium, we've been worse than savages, robbing and murdering peaceful citizens, destroying their beautiful cathedrals, wrecking their homes. We've gone out of our way to bombard unfortified towns; we've hit below the belt. When we couldn't break through our enemies' lines, we have forced them back by using poison gas; when we've been too cowardly to engage their battleships in open fight we have sunk their merchant vessels and helpless fishing boats. And now there is this greatest crime of all—the sinking of theRuritania. I tell you, Adolf, I am sick of it all, and I hope, as I firmly believe, that Germany will be beaten."
Adolf von Wiebe forced himself to laugh.
"You are hoping for the impossible," he said. "Germany can never be beaten. Do you think that we have been preparing for this war all these years only to be defeated in the end? Why, this very sinking of the liner—one of the biggest ships that ever sailed the seas—is a proof of our power. As for Great Britain—she is not worth talking about. You, who have lived in England, should know better than to imagine that she could have a ghost of a chance against so mighty an empire as ours! Sooner than you suppose, Great Britain will have ceased to exist."
"It is because I have lived in England that I am so sure that she will be victorious," persisted Max. "And if I could escape——"
"Escape? Escape from a submarine? Oh, no, I shall see to it that you don't escape, my fine fellow! You are as safe here as if you were imprisoned in a fortress. And since you cannot escape, there is no need to put you in irons. I will allow you to continue with your duties, and, notwithstanding your silly prejudices and scruples, I shall trust you not to put any obstacles in our way when it is a question of sinking a few more ships. We still have some torpedoes left, and I intend to use them."
"We shall need more petrol," Max told him sullenly.
"That will be forthcoming," returned Lieutenant von Wiebe. "A supply ship will meet us."
"Where?" Max asked.
"Never mind where. It is perhaps as well that you should be kept in ignorance of the situation."
Max could only very vaguely guess at the course which the U50 was now taking. He was not allowed to handle the charts or to know more than the general direction as indicated by the compass, which usually pointed northward.
As previously arranged, the submarine's two consorts separated from her when theRuritaniahad been dealt with. Their instructions were that they were to proceed across the Bay of Biscay and through the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean to attack British and French warships operating in the Dardanelles; but the U50 had not been fitted for so long a voyage.
As much as possible she was kept submerged, or with only her periscopes above the surface. No ships were chased or attacked. It seemed to Max that it was the purpose of Lieutenant von Wiebe to get as far away as possible from the scene of the foundering of theRuritania, and to avoid all accidents which might bring him under suspicion of having been concerned in that disaster.
Once, when the submarine was passing abreast of a wild, rocky coast, Max was at the periscope. In the mirror he saw reflected the grey shape of a small British cruiser lying at anchor within easy torpedo range.
In ordinary circumstances he would have rejoiced at the opportunity of doing damage to an enemy ship; he would instantly have commanded the crew to their firing stations and manoeuvred to take aim.
But now he told himself that, as he was practically a condemned prisoner, a mutineer who had disavowed his loyalty to Germany, it was no longer a part of his duty even to report the fact that the cruiser was within striking distance. So he kept silent, and the U50 proceeded on her secret way, and Max Hilliger was never suspected of his duplicity.
On the following morning he heard the chief engineer announcing to the commander that they were becoming perilously short of petrol. Lieutenant von Wiebe showed no concern.
"Within two hours," he said, "we shall be in touch with the supply ship. We will creep into one of these bays and get into communication with our wireless."
And in the stated time the Marconi aerials were at work.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE SUPPLY SHIP.
The British cruiser which Max Hilliger had seen through the periscope of the U50 was H.M.S.Dauntless. She had been on coast patrol duty for some days in northern waters, watching for neutral ships and boarding them to examine their papers and inquire into the nature of their cargoes.
Most of them had given a satisfactory account of themselves, and had been allowed to pass on to their intended destinations. But one of them, an old green-painted barque flying the Swedish flag, had at once aroused suspicion by the fact that she was fitted with wireless aerials.
A shot was fired across her bow, and she shortened sail. Captain Damant sent a boat aboard of her in charge of a second lieutenant, who was accompanied by Midshipman Rodney Redisham.
Rodney Redisham read the nameOlaf Triggvasonon the vessel's side, but he did not take any great interest in her while he waited for the lieutenant's return into the boat. The examination seemed to take an unusually long time, and he wondered if anything contraband had been discovered.
Presently the lieutenant appeared in the open gangway, and began to signal back by semaphore to theDauntless. Rodney understood the message that was sent. It was that a quantity of naphtha and benzine had been discovered in the barque's cargo; that the captain was a German, and that his secret purpose was to supply a German submarine, which he confessed that he expected.
An answer came back from the cruiser:
"Stay where you are, and we will come alongside."
TheDauntlesssteamed slowly up, and the German captain was taken on board of her as a prisoner, to be interrogated by Captain Damant. Shortly afterwards the whole of the crew were taken off and sent below into the seamen's quarters.
The proceedings were quite unusual, and Rodney Redisham did not understand them. Enlightenment came to him, however, when, instead of the barque's own crew, the same number of British seamen dressed up in the foreigners' clothes were put on board theOlaf. He himself was ordered to exchange his midshipman's uniform for canvas breeches and an engineer's jumper. Two lieutenants were similarly disguised, and put in command of the barque.
Rodney began to experience the excitement of a prospective adventure. The excitement was increased when three machine guns were transferred from theDauntlessto the decks of theOlaf Triggvason.
When all was ready the cruiser steamed away and the barque's sails were braced. Her German captain, under pressure, had given the bearings of the spot near which he had been instructed to lie in wait for the submarine, and for this spot the course was set.
It was in a secluded bay between two barren headlands, far away from any habitation. Outside this bay the vessel tacked to and fro and back and forth; but there was no sign of any submarine.
At the end of the first day the senior lieutenant shook his head and declared his belief that the German captain had deceived them. He anchored, knowing that no submarine would expect to find the ship in darkness. But at dawn he again set sail, and cruised within a radius of about a dozen miles. Returning towards the headlands at noon he was about to tack out again when his Marconi operator called him below. Some ship was trying to open communications.
The lieutenant went to the instrument-room, and a message came to him in international code asking the name of his ship. He purposely delayed his answer until the question had been repeated several times, then, giving the name of the ship, he added a guarded question in German.
There was no response for a long time; but he waited patiently, and at length a series of searching questions came to him as though they were from a British warship, demanding to know his exact position and destination and the nature of his cargo.
He knew perfectly well that there was no British warship, excepting theDauntless, within twenty miles of him, but he answered with all the cunning which would enable his questioner to understand that the way was clear. Already he was convinced that he was speaking with the commander of a German submarine, and at length came the message:
"All right. I am the U50. I am short of oil. Stay where you are, and I will come alongside you within an hour."
That hour gave the lieutenant ample time in which to prepare a surprise for his expected visitor, to keep his men out of sight beside their concealed guns, and to place the ship in such a position that the guns would cover the submarine when it should rise to the surface and come alongside. He kept the Swedish flag flying, but had a British ensign ready to take its place at the appropriate moment.
Rodney Redisham, leaning lazily over the rail at the break of the poop, was the first to discover the movement of the submarine's periscope along the sea's ruffled surface. It was approaching on the starboard side. He reported to the lieutenant, and the helm was put over, so that the barque fell off the wind and lay with her sails swaying empty. The side gangway was opened. Then the submarine, drawing nearer, rose to the surface until her whole length was visible from stem to stern.
Lieutenant von Wiebe and the quarter-master stepped out on the conning-tower platform, and a gang of seamen emerged from the forward hatchway to be ready to take in the new supply of oil.
As they drew closer, steering to come alongside, Wiebe shouted a greeting to theOlaf Triggvason, and a couple of English sailors, looking very like Germans, climbing up the main shrouds, waved their arms and cried aloud:
"Hoch! Hoch!"
Slowing down, the submarine drifted nearer, until only a few yards of clear, green water separated her from the barque. More of her crew clambered out upon her long, narrow deck, with Max Hilliger in their midst.
Max had discarded his naval uniform. He was barefooted and bareheaded, and wore only a pair of greasy serge trousers and a grey flannel shirt.
Suddenly the Swedish flag was hauled down from the barque's mizzen, and the British ensign was run up in its place. From the opening of the gangway the shining barrel of a machine-gun was thrust out, two machine-guns appeared between gaps in the poop rail, and along the starboard bulwarks half a dozen British bluejackets levelled their rifles at the German commander and his men. The senior lieutenant, no longer disguised, but in the honourable uniform of a British officer, stood forward at the gangway.
"You will surrender, or I shall sink you," he commanded calmly, as if he were merely giving instructions as to how the submarine should come closer alongside.
Adolf von Wiebe shrank back like an animal at bay, and glanced agitatedly from side to side for a means of escape. But there was none. He could not submerge; he could not take flight. It was useless to think of fighting, and the three quick-firing guns, as well as half a dozen rifles, were levelled menacingly at his ship and his men and himself. It is clear that he had no alternative but to yield.
He shrugged his shoulders in abject despair.
"Ja wohl," he responded, with a forced laugh. "You 'ave shove me in ver' difficult corner,mein Herr. It is no good. Ze game is hup. I surrender. I mek ze salute."
Drawing his bare feet together and standing very upright, he raised his hand to his cap in formal German fashion, and his crew, one and all, followed his example.
"And now, vot next, if you please?" he asked.
"You will bring your crew on board here," he was told. "Within an hour a British cruiser will be with us to take possession of your submarine."
Ropes were thrown across, and when a gang plank was in place the thirty German prisoners marched disconsolately on board the barque.
The last in the file was Max Hilliger. As he passed by Rodney Redisham he gave a start of recognition.
"Hullo!" he cried, lifting his hand to his forehead. "I'm glad to see an English face again—one that I know. You have outwitted us this time very cleverly, but quite honestly. The English are always honest. They always play the game." And, lowering his voice, he added, "I wish I could say the same of the Germans."
"But you oughtn't to be disloyal to your own people," said Redisham.
"I can't help it," returned Max, standing in front of the midshipman. "I've been mistaken in them all along, and I've had enough of them. You see, I went to school in England, and that has made a heap of difference."
"Yes, and you became a Sea Scout," nodded Redisham, slowly putting out his hand.
Max Hilliger looked down at it, and shook his head.
"That's just like you," he said, "offering to shake hands with a beaten enemy. You're very good, but I can't do it. I am not worthy to take the hand of an English gentleman. My own isn't clean enough."
He was remembering what had happened in the conning-tower of the submarine. He was remembering how he had taken part in many an act of piracy against British ships, and his heart was heavy with remorse. He turned away, and walked aft. Rodney Redisham watched him, and wondered if his apparent humility were genuine.
Max Hilliger made his way to the poop, climbed the companion ladder, and continued his way to the taffrail. For a moment it seemed to Redisham that he was about to fling himself overboard, and so escape the payment as a prisoner of war.
Max turned and strode back to the binnacle, stood beside it, and then lifted his eyes to the ensign fluttering proudly in the breeze. He glanced round to assure himself that he was not being watched, and then, alone and, as he believed, unseen, he raised his hand to the salute.
CHAPTER XXXV.
PRISONERS OF WAR.
"Hurry up, Newruck, or we shall not get out of harbour until this ship comes in. Bring along that hamper."
Scoutmaster Arnold Bilverstone was taking the Lion Patrol out for a two days' cruise in their cutter. They had intended to be away for a week, but Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole could not spare so much time. They had both been appointed to a new trawler to go on active service. They were not supposed to talk about it, but the whole patrol knew that the destination of their two lucky companions was the Dardanelles, where they were to engage in the work of sweeping for German and Turkish mines.
Naturally they were very much envied. They would cross the Bay of Biscay, and see the Rock of Gibraltar. They would steam the whole length of the Mediterranean, and perhaps even go as far as Constantinople. There were glorious possibilities in the adventure, but more than all was the chance they would have of really helping in the war and watching theQueen Elizabethfiring her great fifteen-inch guns into the Turkish forts.
Compared with such prospects, a trip in theBe Preparedwas a very small affair indeed.
"I'm afraid we are too late already, sir," said Darby Catchpole, looking out through the harbour mouth to where a panting tug boat was bringing in a strange-looking, green-painted barque.
Mark Redisham followed his glance.
"She's a foreigner," he decided, "and yet she's flying the British flag! How's that? Hullo! look, Mr. Bilverstone! There's a naval officer on her poop deck, and there are some of our bluejackets among her crew."
Mr. Bilverstone was so much interested in the vessel that he stepped out on to the quay and strode along towards the end of the pier. Presently he signalled to the Scouts to join him.
"I expect she's been captured," he said, as the barque came nearer. "Perhaps she has been caught carrying contraband of war."
The tug glided in between the piers, and as the barque followed at the end of the towing warp Mark read the nameOlaf Triggvasonon her green-painted side. Looking down on her main deck he saw a crowd of foreign sailors lying or seated on the hatch cover, guarded by armed bluejackets. Some of them looked like officers; others were dressed as naval seamen.
"Prisoners of war," said Mr. Bilverstone.
Then he leant forward more eagerly. One of the prisoners, the youngest and most ragged of the lot, had stood up on the hatch cover. He looked across at the group on the quay, and smiled wanly as he raised his hand to the Scout's salute.
"Why, it's Max Hilliger!" cried Darby Catchpole. "And the others must be his shipmates off the submarine! Let us wait and see them brought ashore."
TheOlaf Triggvasonwas warped alongside the pier before being taken through the bridge into the inner harbour. Officers from the naval base went aboard. As soon as it became known in the port that a captive ship had been brought in many of the townspeople thronged to the pier, but Police-constable Challis drove them back, and a barrier was drawn across.
In the meantime, Midshipman Rodney Redisham had stepped ashore from the barque to greet his brother Mark.
"So you've sunk a submarine?" said Mark.
"We may have captured one," returned Rodney.
"It was the U50 of course," pursued Mark. "You've got Max Hilliger a prisoner. It's a good thing to have put an end to the U50. She's done a lot of damage one way and another."
"Most of the German submarine commanders have tried to do that," said Rodney. "I suppose it was their duty. You can't blame the officers. They've got to obey their sailing orders."
"What, even when they're told to sink such a ship as theRuritania?" questioned Darby Catchpole.
"Oh, but Max Hilliger was never concerned with a crime like that!" declared Mark Redisham.
"I should hope not," added his brother. "From what I know of him I believe he'd sooner go on strike than have a hand in sinking any but enemy ships of war. But, of course, we've never asked them any questions."
He paused for a moment, and then added:
"I've had several talks with Max Hilliger, and he isn't a bad sort of chap at heart. He's a German, but I believe he'd much rather fight for our King than for the Kaiser."
"Strictly between ourselves," interposed Constable Challis, "I don't think he'll have a chance of fightin' for either."
"Ah, they're being brought ashore now!" said Mr. Bilverstone. "I expect they're going off by the 3-20 train to one of the concentration camps. Attention, Scouts!"
The troop stood in line, and as the prisoners marched by, Max Hilliger walked with his head bowed and his hand raised to his cap. Suddenly he stopped and looked round at his former companions.
"It's jolly good of you chaps not to mock and jeer at me," he said bravely; "but I may tell you that I am glad to be here—back again in England. And—and," he stammered, "God save the King."
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKDREADNOUGHTS OF THE DOGGER***