"BY all the powers, Slogger! You here?"
Farrar "brought up all standing," face to face with one of the last persons he expected to encounter at Malta. He was on his way up the Strada Reale in Valetta when the cheery hail greeted him.
"Cheer-o, Holcombe!" he replied. "This is great—absolutely. What's doing?"
"Brought the 'Antipas' into the Grand Harbour yesterday morning," explained Hugh. "We left a week ago under sealed orders, and have been pelting along at twenty-five knots practically ever since, except for a short stop at Gib. Something's in the wind, Slogger, you mark my words, or they wouldn't send seven modern destroyers up the Straits."
"Pity Greenwood and I weren't given a passage in her," remarked Farrar. "It would have saved a rotten run in one of the slowest old tubs it was ever my luck to sail in—the 'Timon'; know her?"
Holcombe shook his head."What's your packet?" he inquired.
"The 'Zenodorus.'"
"Lucky blighter!" declared Holcombe. "You have a jolly decent skipper. Aubyn's his name, isn't it?"
"Yes," agreed the R.N.V.R. sub. "From all accounts he's hot stuff. I haven't seen much of him yet. We only joined the ship late last night."
"Where's Bruno?" was Holcombe's next question.
"Left him behind at Penkestle. Greenwood's governor is taking care of him. Didn't seem to like the idea at first. Thought Bruno would be too much of a handful, but before I left he was quite pally with the dog. I should be surprised if he wants to part with him. You see, there was no accommodation on the 'Timon,' so Bruno and I had to 'split brass rags.'"
"It's little use crying over spilt milk, Slogger," continued his chum. "Had I known that you were here and that we were under orders for Malta I could easily have given Bruno a passage. But I'll tell you what I'll do: the storeship 'Gunnybag' is leaving Devonport in about a fortnight. I'll write to young Jolly, who's a pal of mine, and ask him to bring the dog out—that is, if you want him?"
"Thanks, rather," replied Farrar warmly.
"Come along to the Naval Club," suggestedHolcombe, and the two chums made their way towards the rendezvous of the members of the Senior Service in Valetta.
"Do you know that chap?" asked the R.N. sub, indicating a tall, supple-framed, deeply tanned officer in the uniform of a flight-lieutenant, who was replacing a cue after the victorious termination of a "hundred up" with a tubby, round-faced engineer-lieutenant.
"Can't say I do," replied Farrar.
"Come along, then, old bird," exclaimed Holcombe, grasping his friend's arm. "I say, Barcroft, let me introduce my pal Farrar."
The two men shook hands.
"Seen you from a distance," remarked Farrar. "When you strafed the Hun that strafed us. I was on the old 'Tantalus.'"
A smile swept across Billy Barcroft's face.
"That so?" he queried. "The U-boat's rash persistence gave me a fine chance. So you are the Farrar my gov'nor mentioned in his last letters?"
"He was stopping in the same house—with Greenwood's people," explained the R.N.V.R. sub. "Yes, he looked absolutely top-hole. Grumbled a bit, though, because you didn't say anything in your letter about strafing U 254."
"I see they've let von Loringhoven slip through their fingers," commented Billy. "Wonder if he's been collared yet?"
"Not according to latest reports from home," said Holcombe. "It's a rummy world," he added, breaking off on a fresh tack. "Yesterday evening I ran full tilt into you, Barcroft, and now I've just barged into this child."
"Did you bring Blimp 144A out here?" asked Farrar.
Barcroft made a deprecatory gesture with his hands.
"I'm dead off blimping," he explained. "It's not bad sport, but, somehow, there's something lacking. S'pose it's the knowledge that you're held aloft by a gas-bag. If anything goes wrong you can't 'plane down,' you know. Your only chance is to jump mighty quick, and parachutes have a knack of letting you down in more senses than one. I saw a Hun crash.... his 'chute refused to open. It wasn't a pretty sight."
"So what are you doing now?" inquired Farrar.
"Oh, now? Just yarning," replied Billy, his ivory teeth gleaming as he smiled.
"Quite so," agreed the R.N.V.R. sub. "So please carry on. You are still in the Air Service?"
"Rather," declared Barcroft emphatically. "Yes, I felt a bit fed up with the old Blimp, so I got a pal of mine up-topsides to put in a word for me. Result: I've been given a brand-new flying-boat. Had to bring her right acrossFrance without a stop, and then on here from Marseilles. Yes, with luck things ought to hum in the Mediterranean. Fritz has been having too easy a time recently—and our patrol boats haven't been idle."
"Lucky dog!" exclaimed Holcombe. "She must be a craft to be proud of."
"Like to have a look at her?" continued Billy. "She's lying off Floriana."
He glanced at his watch.
"One o'clock," he announced. "There's a steamboat from the Customs Landing at two. You'll be able to do the honours to my little packet, and I'll put you alongside your respective ships by eight bells."
About half way to the landing-place the three officers found that their progress through the already crowded street was impeded by a mob of Maltese—the men in sombre garments that contrasted with the motley attire usually sported by the natives; the women in black, with the characteristic head-dress that somewhat resembled the Spanish mantilla. Surging up the steps of the steep strada the "Malts" were importuning every one they met, holding out metal cups for the expected reception of coins.
"What's the move, I wonder?" remarked Holcombe, as the two friends stood aside to let the throng sway past.
"Dunno," replied Barcroft. "It reminds me of Barborough Wakes."
"I can tell you," said a civilian, a dockyard official, who had overheard Holcombe's query. "Do your remember that case of Angelo Zurrico? No; you have not been long in Malta? Zurrico shot another Maltese—sort of vendetta business. He was taken red-handed and sentenced to death. His friends, unable to save his life by obtaining a reprieve, are doing the next best thing according to their lights. They are collecting money to pay for masses and a new silk rope."
"Eh?" ejaculated Billy incredulously.
"Fact," continued his informant. "Custom of Malta, you know. Every condemned criminal is provided with a silk halter if his pals can raise the wind. Also, another quaint idea, the fellow selected to do the hangman's job is at once put under arrest—partly for his own protection in case the relatives of the about-to-be executed man should take it into their heads to knife him, and also to prevent him running away. But to see the Malts at their best I'd advise you to be here for Carnival, if you are able."
The officers thanked their informant, and, the crowd having passed by, resumed their interrupted walk. At the Custom House steps a launch attached to the seaplane base was in attendance, and the run up the Grand Harbour began.
"There she is!" exclaimed Barcroft proudly,pointing to a dark-grey object lying on the surface of the water of a sheltered creek.
At first sight Farrar saw what appeared to be an exaggerated tadpole floating on the water. The flying-boat was at least eighty feet in length, with a blunt, rounded bow and a bulging body for'ard, gradually tapering to a narrow, slightly up-turned stern. Being broadside on the immense wing-spread of her triplanes was hardly noticeable until the launch drew nearer.
"Come aboard," was Billy's invitation, "only please mind your beetle-crushers. I don't want my mahogany planking scratched."
The flying-boat, on the bows of which was painted the name "Avenger," was the triumph of expert brains and painstaking workmanship. The hull was built of double-skinned mahogany with a layer of oiled silk between the outer diagonal and inner fore and aft planks, the skin being securely fastened to elm timbers and ribs. Underneath, although for the present invisible, were six hydroplane steps to facilitate the boat's ascent when "taking off" from the surface.
Wide waterways formed the deck, the sheer being broken by the raised gun platform for'ard, and, immediately in its wake, the conning tower and navigation cabin; 'midships the motor-room and petrol tanks, aft stores and provisions. Four light but powerful guns of the Cleland Davis 5-in. non-recoil type, aerial torpedo dropping gear, and a pair of searchlights comprised the attacking and defensive armament.
Lightness compatible with strength was everywhere evident, yet the tremendous bulk that had to be raised by the joint action of the planes and the four propellers, actuated by ten motors each of 200 h.p., was not far short of fifty tons. While water-borne the flying-boat was propelled by a single propeller coupled to a 160 h.p. petrol motor.
"What's her crew—how many?" inquire Farrar.
"Eighteen all told," replied Barcroft. "We work in watches. Kirkwood, my flight-sub, takes the port watch. He's gone down to Bighi this afternoon to look up an old pal, Waynsford by name, who is convalescing after a touch of Maltese fever."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Farrar enthusiastically; "she is a ripper. I like that idea of a fore-and-aft canopy. Wish I had a chance of taking on this sort of job."
"You never know your luck," answered Billy. "For the present, however, I suppose you must make the best of things on the 'Zenodorus.' If you have a chance give my regards to your skipper. He's an old chum of mine, I must look him up at the first opportunity."
"Why not this afternoon?" asked Holcombe, "You are going back with us in the launch?"
"Unfortunately, no," replied Barcroft. "I'll send you back, but I cannot get away after six bells. We're giving a display for the edification of the Commander-in-Chief and his staff. Meanwhile, let's go across to the mess; you fellows must be wanting lunch—I do."
"SAIL one point on the port bow."
The hail, coming from the look out for'ard, made Farrar hasten to the weather side of the navigation-bridge and bring his night-glasses to the eyes.
The "Zenodorus" was steaming at twenty-one knots with all lights screened. Her position was roughly forty miles N.E. by E. of Cape Sta Maria di Leuca, her mission being to act as covering screen to a drifter patrol operating in the Straits of Otranto.
Five miles to the nor'ard of her course were the hardy little drifters, their crews—one-time hard-working, peaceable North Sea fishermen—forming an effective unit of the British Navy in the hazardous task of assisting in the blockade of the Austrian fleet in the Adriatic. The erstwhile fishing-boats had been on this service for many long-drawn months. They had suffered hardships and severe losses, yet day in and night out relays of these stumpily built little craft were always to be found in the Otranto Straits, sweeping for mines, looking for hostilesubmarines, and otherwise doing their level best to circumvent Fritz and his Allies in their stealthy acts of frightfulness.
But for one fact the drifters might be one or a hundred miles from the "Zenodorus," for, also without lights, they were totally invisible in the intense darkness. It was the constant crackle of the wireless receiver that told the alert officer of the watch of the position of the plucky little auxiliaries.
The sighting of the mysterious vessel called for immediate and prompt action. No armed merchant cruiser or light cruiser of the Royal Navy was known to be within ten miles of the "Zenodorus's" "beat"; nor, according to official information from the Italian Admiralty, were any of the Italian fleet under way in these waters. The inference, therefore, was that the strange craft was an enemy ship; possibly a raider striving to run the blockade, or else an Austrian cruiser attempting a "tip-and-run" enterprise.
On the other hand, if the vessel were a hostile craft, how came she to pass the outer drifter patrol without being challenged by the alert guardians of the Straits?
Since the two vessels were approaching from almost exactly opposite directions at an aggregate speed of approximately thirty-eight knots, there was no time to be lost. The "Zenodorus" was cleared for action. Her 6-inch quick-firerswere loaded and trained abeam, ready for eventualities, but, if shots were to be exchanged, the stranger would open fire first, while as she swept by she would probably loose a couple of torpedoes at close range. It was one of the few advantages possessed by the Germans and their allies with the practical disappearance of their above-water ships: every vessel they met was either an enemy or a neutral. Should a mistake be made and a neutral vessel sent to the bottom Germany would apologise for the "regrettable incident" and offer compensation, but rarely did the owners of the luckless neutral craft receive anything beyond the empty "offer."
Sub-Lieutenant Farrar was quick to act. He knew that the senior watch-keeper was in the chart-room. Before the navigator could emerge from the brilliantly illuminated compartment and accustom his eyes to the sudden transition from light to darkness the mischief would be done—one way or the other.
"Port five!" ordered the sub.
"Port five, sir," replied the quartermaster.
"Steady!"
"Steady, sir," was the echoing response.
"'Midships!" Then to the watch on deck, "Prepare to ram!"
Even before the alert quartermaster could reply the expected happened. The sharp bows of the "Zenodorus" crashed into the starboard side of the stranger just abaft the foremast.
Those of the armed merchant cruiser's men who had not thrown themselves flat upon the deck at the order to prepare to ram were hurled violently off their feet, while above the rending of steel plates came the loud sounds of the foremast and its attendant raffle falling athwart the "Zenodorus" deck.
"By Jove!" exclaimed the sub gleefully, as a babel of voices shouting in a guttural jargon came from the rammed ship. "I was right. They are Austrians."
By hitting the enemy craft bows on Farrar had reduced the risk of the "Zenodorus" being torpedoed to a minimum. At the best a torpedo fired at close range could only strike a glancing blow, even supposing the broadside tube could be trained sufficiently ahead to bear upon the British vessel. So terrific had been the impact that the crumpled bow-plates of the "Zenodorus" were within four or six feet of the Austrian's foremast, while before both vessels lost way the former had swung round until she was at right angles to the latter's fore and aft plane.
All the time the "Zenodorus" was running her powerful engines full speed ahead. This had the effect of keeping the sharp wedge of her bows fixed in the gaping hole in her antagonist's side.
"On searchlights!" roared a voice that Farrar recognised as his captain's. Withintwenty seconds of the impact Lieutenant-Commander Aubyn was on the bridge to direct operations.
A spurt of flame leapt from one of the after quick-firers on the Austrian's starboard quarter, and a shell burst under the British vessel's poop. It was a sign that the Austrian gunners were recovering from the panic into which they had been thrown by the unexpected manoeuvre of the "Zenodorus."
Lieutenant-Commander Aubyn forbore to give the order to open fire, lest the enemy ship's magazine might explode and send both vessels to a common fate, With the intention of drawing clear and taking up a position on the Austrian's port bow, he telegraphed first for "stop," then "half speed astern."
Before the "Zenodorus" could back away a score or more of the enemy clambered upon her fo'c'sle. For the moment Farrar, as well as several others of the officers and crew, was under the impression that the men were endeavouring to save themselves by gaining the deck of the ramming vessel, since it was practically a foregone conclusion that their own craft would founder rapidly when the "Zenodorus" backed clear of the huge rent in her side.
Eager to save life several of the crew went to the assistance of their foes, only to make the discovery that the "Zenodorus" wasboarded by a swarm of armed and determined men, headed by a tall, powerfully-built officer, brandishing an automatic pistol in each hand.
"Repel boarders!" shouted Aubyn in stentorian tones, giving a command that only on extremely rare occasions has been heard by a British crew in action since the days of the old Wooden Walls. But a lapse of over seventy years has not changed the enthusiasm of the British tar for a hand-to-hand tumble with cold steel. Gone were the old eight-foot pikes, the keen-edged boarding axes, and the unreliable flint-lock pistols, but with their modern counterparts the bluejackets surged for'ard in a cheering, yelling, irresistible rush.
With the two powerful searchlights to aid them—for the boarders fought with the dazzling glare full in their eyes—the "Zenodorus's" men made short work of their opponents. The Austrian officer went down with a cutlass through his chest, but not before he had killed one and wounded three of his foes. A dozen of his men lay dead upon the deck, while others, attempting to flee, found their retreat had been cut off by the "Zenodorus" backing away from her prey. Seeing that their case was hopeless they laid down their arms.
Even as the British armed merchant-cruiser gathered sternway a torpedo, gleaming silvery white in the glare of the searchlight, leapt froma tube in the enemy's main deck. Disappearing beneath the waves amidst a cascade of glistening spray the missile almost grazed the British vessel's port quarter, and missing her stern post, by inches, harmlessly finished its run five miles from the scene of the encounter.
It was the hostile craft's last bolt. So great was the inrush of water that her fo'c'sle was awash. Heeling more and more she lay right over on her beam ends, the surviving members of her crew clambering up the now horizontal starboard side. Then, with a muffled roar, her boilers exploded, completely severing the hull into two parts. The for'ard portions already waterlogged, sank like a stone. The remaining part of the hull, turning completely over, remained in view for nearly five minutes, until, with very little commotion, it too disappeared from view, leaving the agitated water dotted with the heads of nearly a hundred survivors.
Already every available boat had been lowered from the "Zenodorus." The quarter boats had been smashed by the solitary shell that had exploded on her poop. Nevertheless the crew were instrumental in saving seventy of the foes, many of whom were in a state of extreme exhaustion.
"Seven feet of water in the forehold, sir," reported the carpenter, who, upon the conclusion of the action, had gone below to ascertainthe amount of material damage below the water-line.
"Stokehold for'ard bulkhead holding?" inquired the captain anxiously.
"Yes, sir; tight as a bottle; but our bows are properly stove in."
Aubyn turned to the officer of the watch.
"Did you give the order to ram?" he asked.
"No, sir," replied the lieutenant. "I was in the chart-room at the time. Mr. Farrar was sub of the watch."
Rather dubious as to his reception Farrar stood at attention before his skipper and made his report—straight to the point and avoiding all unnecessary details.
"I congratulate you, Mr. Farrar," said the lieutenant-commander. "It showed promptitude and daring on your part. Your reasoning was sound—absolutely. She would have slipped a couple of tin-fish into us for a dead cert. if you had let her run past our lee. As it was we've come off lightly, but it would have been a costly mistake if that craft had been a friend."
The "Zenodorus" was still forging astern.
With her damaged bows it would be a risky business to go ahead and thus increase the hydrostatic pressure upon the transverse bulkheads. The wreckage of the foremast was cut clear and temporary wireless aerials sent aloft, a message being sent to the "Zenoclides,"the "next on station," asking her to relieve the damaged vessel as soon as possible.
Examination of the prisoners revealed the information that the enemy craft was the 8,000 ton Austrian Lloyd liner "Hapsburg," that had been fitted out at Trieste for a raiding expedition to the Western Mediterranean. That the Austrian naval authorities realised that there was slight possibility of her return was evident from the instructions given to her commanding officer. The captain of the "Hapsburg" had been ordered to break through the Otranto patrol, if possible, and then, directly matters became too hot, to make for a Spanish port and be interned.
It was a daring piece of work—the evading of the drifter patrol. Favoured by intense darkness and a northerly breeze the Austrian vessel hoisted a square-sail of black canvas, and depending solely upon the wind to give her steerage way, ran noiselessly through the British outer line. Then, putting on all speed, she trusted to chance to avoid the supporting cruisers, only to be sent to the bottom by the "Zenodorus."
"It will mean six weeks in dock," observed Captain Aubyn, when the damage was revealed in the morning light. "But it might have been a jolly sight worse."
The crumpled state of the armed merchantman's bows made her injuries appear greaterthan they actually were. For thirty feet the plating was buckled and twisted, the deck planks shattered, and the whole of No. 2 transverse bulkhead exposed to the level of the water. The "Zenodorus" was nine feet down by the bows, but fortunately beyond the flooding of the forehold the rest of the hull was still watertight. As additional evidence of the immense force of the impact, the "Hapsburg's" steam capstan had been uprooted from its bed and had been forced completely through the British cruiser's for'ard bulkhead, where it remained as a trophy of the encounter.
With the loss of the foremast and the damage aft caused by the explosion of the hostile shell, the "Zenodorus" looked a wreck, but, as the lieutenant-commander had remarked, it might have been a jolly sight worse.
Under easy steam and escorted by a destroyer the battered merchant cruiser crawled back to Malta, where steps were immediately taken to make good defects.
At the first opportunity Sub-Lieutenant Farrar sought an interview with his commanding officer and made a suggestion.
Aubyn listened interestedly. His junior officer's scheme seemed practicable, while the sub was quite capable of being entrusted with its execution.
"Very good, Mr. Farrar," exclaimed the "owner" of the "Zenodorus." "I'll submitthe matter to the Commander-in-Chief, and no doubt he will concur. I don't see why you shouldn't go on a roving commission for the next three weeks; it will be preferable to cooling your heels in Valetta. By Jove! I wish I could go with you."
FOR nearly half a minute silence followed von Loringhoven's dramatic assertion. Only the ticking of a clock over the oak mantelpiece broke the stillness.
Then the commercial who had been reading the newspaper coughed deprecatingly.
"We are too tough old birds to be caught with chaff, sir," he remarked. "If you want cheap notoriety try the nearest constable."
His companions laughed at the apparent discomfiture of a man who had attempted a hoax and had been detected.
"I was once in the company of a man who declared that he was Clutterbung, the fraudulent lawyer for whose arrest a thousand pounds reward was offered," observed one of the company. "On that instance the fellow was a bit wrong under the thatch. Not that I wish to insinuate anything, sir, but really your assertion is so palpably improbable that I—or rather we—decline to be imposed upon."
Von Loringhoven was breathing freely now.The crucial moment of the ordeal was passed. By making a bold statement he had "drawn" the men with whom he was in company.
"Must break the ice," he remarked pleasantly. "I've been sitting here the greater part of the evening in icy isolation. Sorry the Defence of the Realm Regulations will not permit me to stand drinks."
For the next hour conversation proceeded briskly, the ober-leutnant "pitching a yarn" of how he earned his gold stripes, giving elaborate details with such fidelity that an old soldier might have been deceived, let alone a group of commercials. In return they gave him hints about the country around Hereford, and learning that he was making his way there by road, considerately mapped out the best route from Birmingham to the Welsh border.
Refreshed and with renewed confidence von Loringhoven left Selly Oak early next morning, and riding steadily found himself at Gloucester by noon.
About five miles beyond the city he halted at a small wayside inn, where half a dozen yokels were exchanging mutual congratulations upon their being able to obtain beer. Presently the countrymen left to resume work, and von Loringhoven found himself in the sole company of a short, thick-set man dressed in a blue serge coat and trousers, a soiled peaked cap, and a muffler of doubtful colour round his neck.From the fact that the bottoms of his trousers were tucked into his grey woollen socks the ober-leutnant came to the correct conclusion that the seafarer was the possessor of a bicycle which von Loringhoven had observed leaning against the outside wall.
"Roads heavy, mate," remarked the man, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"Fairish stiff," agreed the Hun.
The other, producing a plug of hard tobacco from his cap deliberately cut off a few thick flakes and then handed the plug to his companion.
Von Loringhoven accepted the gift. He realised that there might be possibilities in engaging in conversation with the seaman.
"S'pose I'm out o' gear," continued the latter. "Ain't been riding for over a twelvemonth. I'm deck-hand aboard the old 'Andromeda,'" he added gratuitously, pronouncing the classical name with tremendous accent upon the "me." "A swine of a tub she is; still we diddled Old Fritz on the homeward run from Mobile."
"Oh," remarked the ober-leutnant. "How was that?"
"Well, it was like this. We were off the Fastnet, bound for the Bristol Channel, when up pops a blank U-boat astern of us. Since we could only do nine knots 'twasn't much good trying to foot it, so our Old Man hoisteda bloomin' signal to some hooker what wasn't anywhere abouts, up-helmed and makes straight for Old Fritz. Fritz didn't like that 'ere signal, no more'n he liked the idea of our old packet goin' for her, so he dives. Bless me if our Old Man didn't keep cruisin' around for the best part of an hour, just to make Fritz think as 'ow he was a patrol boat. Still he might have got us. I've been torpedoed three times already."
"Then I should think you'd had enough of it," said von Loringhoven tentatively.
"Me—not much," replied the man, bridling at the mere suggestion. "It'll take more'n Old Fritz's tin-pot submarines to choke me off. My old grandfather didn't used to be frightened at Boney's privateers, an' he sailed from Bristol Town for more'n fifty years. What's bred in the bone—you know, mate. An' I ain't the only one, not by long chalks."
"Where are you bound this voyage?" asked the German.
"Dunno exactly," was the reply. "There was some talk of the 'Andromeda' making a run to Alexandra. Look 'ere, mate, you're axing me a lot o' questions. 'Ow about yourself; wot are you doin'?"
"Me—I'm only a cast-off Tommy," replied von Loringhoven.
"Then you must a' been pretty badly knockedabout," commented the seaman, "or they wouldn't let you out of it."
"Still able to work, thank goodness," replied the ober-leutnant. He saw possibilities in keeping up the conversation. "How about it—shall we ride together as far as Bristol?"
For a few moments the man did not reply. He was draining his tankard, and his range of vision was limited to about nine-tenths of the interior surface of the metal mug, while his gullet was working like a piston-rod.
"Right-o, mate," he replied at length. "I'm on it; only don't forget I can't do more'n ten knots with a following wind."
During the remainder of the journey von Loringhoven made sure of his ground, and came to the conclusion that it was safe to take this newly found friend into his confidence—up to a certain point.
"What's the best way of getting out of the country?" he asked. "I'm fed up with England. For all I know they may call me up for re-examination and pack me off to the front again. Straight, I've had enough. No chance of shipping on board the 'Andromeda,' I suppose?"
"Might," replied the other. "But you ain't 'ad no experience, 'ave yer?"
"I was in a small barquentine for a couple of voyages—ten years ago," declared von Loringhoven with perfect truth. He had, likemany other German naval officers, taken on a job on a Baltic timber vessel trading with various South of England ports—solely with the idea of getting acquainted with certain British harbours in view of the approach of The Day.
"No discharge papers, I suppose?" asked the seaman.
The ober-leutnant was obliged to confess that he had none.
"I can work it," continued his companion. "It'll cost you a couple o' quid, an' I can put you on to a man who'll rig you out with slops for the matter of another one-pound note. Can you rise to it?"
"I think so," replied von Loringhoven.
Three days later the s.s. "Andromeda," of 2,170 tons burthen, warped out of Avonmouth dock on her voyage to Alexandria. Her cargo consisted of military stores, her crew thirty-seven hands, including Jimmy Marsh, alias Otto von Loringhoven.
The ober-leutnant had not the faintest desire to go as far as the Mediterranean. He was firmly convinced that the tramp would be captured by an Unterseeboot before she was well clear of the Bristol Channel, in which case he would declare his identity to the kapitan-leutnant of the U-boat and be taken on board the representative substitute of the German High Seas Fleet.
Hour after hour, day after day, the eight-knotter steamed sedately on her course, but not a single U-boat was to be seen. Off Cape de Roca the "Andromeda" was ordered into harbour to ship mules for Egypt, but Portuguese territory offered von Loringhoven no inducement to desert. He might have made his way into Spain; but then the fact still remained that hostile country separated him from the Fatherland.
Off Gib. the tramp was received by British patrol boats and shepherded through the U-boat infested Straits. One hundred and fifty miles east of Algiers the condensers gave trouble, and the old tramp had to be towed into Bona for repairs that took the best part of six weeks.
Von Loringhoven stuck it gamely. He had no option. There was nothing to entice him to desert in Algerian territory, while in order to keep up his rôle he applied himself diligently to whatever task was allotted him, hoping that in the Eastern Mediterranean, where German and Austrian U-boats were showing great activity, the fate of the "Andromeda" would be sealed.
At length the tedious journey was resumed.
On the fifth day after leaving Bona the tramp sighted a felucca-rigged vessel flying Greek colours and proceeding on a course that would put her athwart the "Andromeda's" bows.
For a quarter of an hour both vessels heldon in their respective directions, until, in accordance with the rule of the road, the tramp's master ordered the helm to be ported to enable the steamer to pass under the stern of the sailing craft.
Von Loringhoven, who with others of the crew was engaged in splicing a wire hawser that had been "nipped" during the "Andromeda's" stay at Bona, regarded the felucca with languid interest. He had seen feluccas many times before. At first sight this one seemed much the same as the others. The nondescript crew in motley garb looked the picture of Near Eastern indolence as they sprawled in various attitudes. Even the helmsman seemed almost too languid to exert any pressure upon the long tiller.
Presently von Loringhoven's interest quickened. Never before had he seen a Levantine craft with spotless decks nor the ropes neatly flemished. Amidships was a double-ended boat with high bow and stern posts. Over her an awning had been thrown to prevent the rays of the sun opening her seams. In these days of unrestricted piracy such a precaution was necessary, since the crew might have to take to the boat at five minutes' notice. So there was nothing extraordinary about the canvas-covered boat; but when an eddying wind lifted one corner of the awning the ober-leutnant's curiosity was fully on the alert,for plainly revealed was the rubber-shod shoulder piece of a quick-firer.
Half an hour later the felucca was out of sight. It was now von Loringhoven's watch below, and having fed on fo'c'sle fare he turned into his bunk.
Shortly after midnight the Hun, with the rest of the men off duty, was awakened by a terrific crash and a tremendous shock that flung most of the sleepers out of their berths. It needed not the bo'sun's shout of "On deck, every mother's son of you!" to clear the fore-peak.
The "Andromeda" had been torpedoed without warning, the explosion tearing a huge rent under her port quarter.
She was foundering rapidly. There was hardly time for the men to pass five of their badly wounded and injured mates into the boats before her rail was awash. Barely had the Old Man leapt into the last boat to get away when the "Andromeda" flung her stern high in the night air and slithered noisily beneath the surface.
Hardly able to realise that their floating home had disappeared from view the men lay on their oars until the master shouted to the chief mate for the boats to keep together.
"We'll be picked up as soon as it's daylight, lads," he added encouragingly. "So tighten your belts and keep a stiff upper lip."
"Submarine dead ahead," shouted several voices when, ten minutes later, a long, low-lying dark shape came into view, silhouetted against the starlit sea.
"Coming to poke Charley at us," muttered the first mate. "Don't give them any lip, lads, or as likely as not they'll throw the whole crowd of us into the ditch."
Carrying little way the U-boat slipped in between the "Andromeda's" boats. An officer and a couple of seamen were standing on the platform surrounding the conning-tower; more men were clustered round the quick-firers.
"What sheep haf we sunk?" demanded a guttural voice.
"The 'Andromeda' of Avonmouth," replied the master.
"Von swine of English sheep no more," chortled the U-boat officer. "Where your kapitan is?"
There was silence in the boats. The Old Man would have replied, but for the fact that the bo'sun had clapped his horny palm over his superior officer's mouth, and with a praiseworthy disregard for disparity of rank had bade him "keep his jaw-tackle bowsed down."
The inquiry was repeated in a decidedly menacing tone.
"Not here," answered the first mate, grasping the situation. "Most likely he's gone down."
As a matter of fact the staunch old skipper was "down," but in a different sense, for, endeavouring to assert defiantly that he was the master of s.s. "Andromeda" and not afraid of a pack of piratical Huns, he had been forcibly placed on his back in the stern sheets of the boat.
So intent upon other matters was von Loringhoven, who was in the first mate's boat, that the purport of the dialogue with the kapitan-leutnant of the U-boat failed to leave any impression on his mind.
"Take me on board!" he hailed in German. "I am Ober-Leutnant von Loringhoven, late of U 254."
"Silence there!" ordered the first mate sternly. With the rest of the survivors of the tramp he did not understand German, nor had he any suspicion that the words were in that language.
Great was his astonishment when the submarine commander ordered the boat alongside, and a couple of German seamen assisted the all too willing von Loringhoven over the bulging sides of the pirate craft. Then, her twin propellers churning the water into eddies of phosphorescence, the U-boat forged ahead and left the rest of the "Andromeda's" crew to their reflections.
"Wonder why the deuce those Huns collared Jimmy Marsh?" was the question that puzzledthe boats' crews. "Suppose he knew a bit of Hun lingo and gave them lip, and they didn't like it."
Meanwhile von Loringhoven was being entertained in the cabin of the kapitan-leutnant of the U-boat, and at an early stage in the conversation he startled his brother-officer by remarking,
"If you should fall in with a felucca, Heinrich, have a care—she's dangerous."
SUBLIEUTENANT NIGEL FARRAR had a very busy week following the return of H.M. armed merchant cruiser "Zenodorus" to Malta. With a celerity undreamt of in pre-war days his project had been submitted to the Commander-in-Chief, who returned it with the magic word "Concur."
"That's splendid, Mr. Farrar," remarked Lieutenant-Commander Aubyn. "The next thing to be done is to find a suitable craft. There are several condemned prizes lying off the Pieta Marine. Take the steam cutter and have a look at them."
The sub lost no time in carrying out his commanding officer's suggestion. Accompanied by the bo'sun and the carpenter of the "Zenodorus"—for their expert advice was highly desirable—he steered the cutter down the Grand Harbour, rounded St. Elmo on the port hand, and ran up the long, land-locked arm known as the Quarantine Harbour, thus almost circumnavigating the rocky peninsula on which the town of Valetta is built.
Almost at the head of the creek were between twenty and thirty sailing craft of all sizes up to a hundred tons, of all variety of rigs, and of half a dozen different nationalities. Some had been owned by enemy firms and had been detained when war broke out or else captured within a very few days of the declaration of hostilities; others had been seized on suspicion of having conveyed contraband or assisting U-boats in their career of piracy and murder.
It was not long before Farrar picked upon a likely vessel for his forthcoming "independent cruise." She was of about eighty tons burthen according to Board of Trade measurements, and well built and structurally sound both above and below water. She was felucca-rigged, her long lateen yards, destitute of canvas, lying along her sheering deck.
"What is her history?" inquired the sub of the warrant officer in charge of the prizes.
Reference to a docket showed that the"Afir-el-Bahr" had beencaptured by the boats of H.M.S. "Hammerer" during the trouble with the Senussi. The felucca, bought at a Tunisian port and flying the French flag, had been caught red-handed.
That same afternoon Farrar had the felucca towed round to the Grand Harbour, where she was hauled up on a cradle for cleaning and anti-fouling. Working all night shipwrights bored her stern-post and fitted a stern tube andpropeller. This essential work having been carried out with strict secrecy, the "Afir-el-Bahr" was again launched and towed off alongside the "Zenodorus," for owing to all the dry docks being occupied, below-water repairs to the merchant cruiser had to be deferred.
In a polyglot port, although in a British Crown Colony, the danger of espionage was far more difficult to cope with than at a home station. The true Maltese is a loyal subject of King George, but on the island are hundreds, perhaps thousands of doubtful characters—men of pure or partial Arab, Greek, Moorish, Syrian, or Algerian descent—many of whom were either potential or latent spies. Consequently, all work in connection with the refitting of the felucca that might be likely to cause comment was performed during the hours of darkness.
A seventy-horse-power motor was installed in the after-hold; the deck beams were strengthened and their planks doubled in order to take the weight of two four-inch quick-firers. The for'ard gun, taken from a captured U-boat, was of the "disappearing" type, being housed, when not in use, in a water-tight compartment flush with the deck. The second quick-firer was placed amidships, being screened from observation from the sea-level by the high bulwarks, while as an additional precaution a Maltese-built boat was placed on chocks ondeck, so that the weapon lay snugly against the quarter.
The existing wooden bulwarks were removed and replaced by others of light but hardened steel capable of withstanding rifle and machinegun bullets, while at intervals the metal plating was hinged so as to fall flat upon the deck and give the guns a wide arc of fire.
During the progress of this work several large wicker hampers were received on board. These, when opened, were found to be full of clothes not usually worn by men of His Majesty's Service, but nevertheless the garments were served out to a dozen of the crew, who entered into the game of make-believe with a zest that Jack Tar always displays when engaged in anything of the nature of amateur theatricals.
Ammunition, stores, and provisions were then stowed on board; new canvas, purposely soiled to appear in common with the rest of the craft, was bent to the cumbersome yards; a wireless telegraphy installation was fitted, the aerials being kept below until actually required, and finally forty of the ship's company of the "Zenodorus" took up their quarters on the "Afir-el-Bahr" under the command of Sub-Lieutenant Farrar.
Much to his disappointment Greenwood was refused permission to accompany his chum: the A.P.'s abilities were in strong demand on board the armed merchant cruiser, while as amember of the non-combatant branch there was little need for his services on particular work. As second-in-command, Mr. Gripper, the gunner of the "Zenodorus," was chosen, while to safeguard the health of the felucca's crowded crew a surgeon-probationer, Dick Leech by name, was "lent" from one of the harbour service ships.
All preparations completed, the felucca was towed out of the Grand Harbour shortly after midnight, and, exchanging signals with Forts Ricasoli and St. Elmo that vigilantly guarded the port, passed through the formidable barrier athwart the entrance.
Clear of the land the tug cast off her tow and the felucca, renamed the "Georgeos Nikolaos," hoisted sail and bore away on an easterly course.
Nigel Farrar had no cause to regret his choice of the craft. The felucca was stiff, weatherly, sailed well, and for her type pointed high. Her sharp bows and clean run aft gave her a fair turn of speed, notwithstanding her large complement and heavy cargo. The sub's experience on board his father's yacht in those far-off pre-war days was proving useful, for he had not lost the art of getting every ounce out of a vessel under sail.
The warrant officer, the felucca's second-in-command, was also a good sailing man. Although belonging to thepukkanavy, Mr.Gripper had had considerable experience in sailing cutters off the East Coast of Africa, where expeditions in search of slave-running dhows afforded plenty of excitement and danger, with a chance of a few tough "scraps" thrown in. The gunner was also a stern disciplinarian. Even on board the felucca he would have things run in proper Navy fashion, while with a view of keeping the "hands" out of mischief he had the little craft's deck holystoned and the ropes either neatly coiled or flemished.
It was he who had picked two "gunlayers 1st Class" from the "Zenodorus's" ship's company, men who were able to perform feats little short of miraculous with the merchant cruiser's six-inch quick-firers. Woe betide a periscope that incautiously poked its tips above the surface anywhere within two thousand yards if either Sampson or Claydon happened to be laying the guns. Whether they would be able to maintain their reputation with the four-inch weapons of the "Georgeos Nikolaos" remained to be seen.
With the exception of half a dozen British seamen beautifully disguised as Greeks all hands on deck were strictly enjoined to keep their heads below the top of the bulwarks, while whenever a vessel was sighted every one not in "fancy rig" was ordered below. Outwardly the felucca looked like a peaceful trader, but she had a stern and retributive duty to perform—to avenge a certain hospital-ship that had been wantonly torpedoed in broad daylight.
The day passed without anything of an untoward nature occurring. At sunset the wind dropped, and the felucca lay almost motionless. She was in no hurry to make any port in particular, and there was no need to make use of the motor. After dark the wireless aerials were sent aloft, while the operator stuck to his little cabin on the offchance of picking up an "S.O.S." message from a hard-pressed merchantman. Yet no such indication was received. The felucca might have been sailing the Mediterranean in peace time as far as the presence of German Unterseebooten was concerned.
Dawn of the second day found the "Georgeos Nikolaos" 120 miles east of Malta. The flat calm still prevailed, although the vivid red sunrise presaged dirty weather. The felucca was rolling sullenly, her lateen yards groaning dismally as they ground and thumped against the raking masts.
With a scarlet scarf bound round his head in place of his white-covered uniform cap, Farrar swept the expanse of oily sea by means of his binoculars. Presently he caught sight of an indistinct shape that looked much like a truncated cone, its distance from the felucca being not far short of three miles.
"See what you make of that, Mr. Gripper," he remarked, addressing the warrant officer,who was about to take over the watch. "Dead in line with that shroud; can you pick it up?"
The gunner took the proffered binoculars, hung his cap on a belaying-pin, and levelled the glasses in the direction indicated.
"A Fritz, sir," he declared. "Busting up to see what he can pinch. Never saw a Hun hurrying to his own funeral so smart before—unless this infernal roll gives the show away."
"Lie close, men," ordered the sub, addressing those of the felucca's complement who were not playing the rôle of Greeks. "All clear there, Sampson?"
"All clear, sir," replied the gunlayer confidently, as he gave a preliminary tug to the lever operating the raising mechanism of the disappearing gun.
"Hoist the colours, Dixon," continued the sub.
A barefooted bluejacket wearing a pair of fierce-looking turned-up moustachios, glittering "gold" earrings, a loosely-fitting red shirt, and a pair of trousers of grotesque cut, pattered aft with the Greek colours in one hand and a neatly rolled up ensign in the other. Bending the blue and white flag to the signal halliards of the main lateen yard-arm he hoisted the colours of the Mercantile Marine of the Kingdom of Greece. The rolled ensign he toggled to the ensign-staff halliards, keeping the compact bundle of bunting well below the taffrail.
The U-boat came up rapidly and unhesitatingly. Evidently the anticipated prize was not thought worth a warning shot, although the pirates were manning the for'ard "disappearing" gun. The whole of her length—close on 250 feet—was exposed, nearly a score of her crew being distributed along the deck. On the conning-tower platform stood a couple of gold-laced officers and the helmsman, for when running on the surface and not about to attack this type of craft is steered by means of a wheel in front of the conning tower.
From a stumpy mast in the wake of the twin periscopes the Black Cross ensign of Germany drooped sullenly in the still air, as if ashamed to display the badge of infamy.
At a distance of about two cables' lengths, the U-boat made a complete circuit of the felucca, as if to show her powers of manoeuvring. It was like a cat playing with a mouse.
"'Georgeos Nikolaos' ahoy!" shouted the kapitan-leutnant in a vile smattering of the language of the modern Hellenes. "Where are you bound? What is your cargo?"
One of the disguised bluejackets replied. An R.N.R. man he had, prior to the outbreak of hostilities, been a steward on a passenger boat plying between Port Said, the Piraeus, and Constantinople, and was decidedly a very handy member of the felucca's crew.
"We are from Messina, bound for Damietta,with a general cargo, illustrious kapitan," he replied.
"Ach! general cargo—contraband every kilogramme. Abandon your craft. I give you five minutes."
"But," protested the pseudo Greek, "we have only one small boat, and we are many leagues from the nearest land. Bad weather threatens. Have you no mercy?"
"Since you Grecian dogs are fond of licking the feet of your accursed taskmasters who are the enemies of the German Fatherland," snapped the Hun, "you can drown or starve for aught I care. In any case, you will have plenty of time for reflection. Hasten; one minute of the five has already gone."
With every semblance of panic-stricken haste the members of the "theatrical stunt" threw themselves upon the boat amidships, swinging it outboard by means of tackle from the yards.
Jabbering in imitation of the cosmopolitan seafarers of various Mediterranean ports the disguised bluejackets leapt into the boat and began to row away from the felucca as hard as they could.
Farrar glanced aft. A seaman had crawled to the taffrail, and was handling the ensign halliards in gleeful anticipation, while another man was "standing by" the halliard of the Greek flag—or, rather, he was sitting on the deck with the uncleated ropes in his horny hands.
The U-boat was approaching slowly. To save time in the expected looting operations she evidently meant to run alongside. She was now but a cable's length away.
The sub sprang to his feet. Simultaneously the blue and white striped flag was struck, while a tug on the ensign halliards "broke out" the British White Ensign. Down fell several sections of the hinged steel bulwarks, revealing to the astounded Huns the deck of the felucca crowded with armed bluejackets and the muzzles of the two four-inch quick-firers pointing straight at the U-boat's conning tower.
"Surrender instantly!" shouted the sub in stentorian tones.
The result hardly came up to the sub's expectations. Several of the Huns on the forepart of the U-boat raised their hands high above their heads, abject terror showing itself on their blanched faces and by their trembling limbs. Two of them promptly leapt overboard, and struck out as hard as they could away from the doomed pirate craft.
The kapitan-leutnant was cast in a sterner mould. Shouting an order to the waverers he bolted into the conning tower. The hinged water-tight lid closed automatically, cutting off the retreat of the unter-leutnant and those of the crew who were still on deck.
Almost at the next moment a trail of air bubbles and a diverging wake of foam announcedthat the U-boat had let loose a torpedo at practically point-blank range. It was a chance shot, and fortunately the felucca had drifted just beyond the line of direction from the U-boat's fixed bow tube. Missing her stern by less than a couple of yards the powerful locomotive missile finished its run at nearly three miles from its target.
At the first indication of the firing of the torpedo, Sub-Lieutenant Farrar rapped out an order. Both four-inch guns spoke simultaneously. The shells did their work effectively and with appalling suddenness, for penetrating the base of the U-boat's conning tower they burst with disastrous results in the interior of the steel hull.
By the force of the irresistible explosion of the lyddite shells the submarine simply buckled. For a brief instant the bow and stern were lifted clear of the water, to disappear in a smother of smoke and flame. As the U-boat sank a quantity of petrol and oil was forced through the jagged hole amidships, and being lighter than water the highly inflammable fluid spread far and wide. The next instant the sea for a radius of fifty yards across the spot where the Hun craft had disappeared was a blaze of fire, the hissing flames threatening to set alight the idle sails of the felucca.
"Start up!" shouted the sub, addressing the engine-room artificer in charge of the "Georgeos Nikolaos" motor.
The order was promptly obeyed, and the felucca, gathering way, passed out of the danger zone, but not before the paint on her sides was blistered by the flames.
Declutching the propeller shafting the felucca lost way at three cables' distance from the still burning oil. Her officers and men on the look out for possible survivors, saw none; nor did the boat with its disguised crew, although she was rowed right up to the edge of the blazing patch of oil-covered water. Those of the U-boat's crew who had not gone down with the shattered hull had perished miserably in the flames.
"Hoist the recall," ordered the sub, and the boat, returning to the felucca, was hoisted on board.
For a few minutes the aerials were sent aloft, and a laconic message dispatched to the Commander-in-Chief.