Thenext day dawned bright and clear. Hardly a ripple disturbed the placid surface of the Flow, although beyond the harbour the flood tide was boiling and seething through the Pentland Firth, with a roar that sounded like a continuous peal of thunder.
M.L.'s 1497 and 1499 were ready to cast off when Cumberleigh stepped on board the former—Meredith's command. Morpeth had forestalled the R.A.F. officer by a good hour.
"When do you pick her up?" inquired Cumberleigh, referring to the German vessel bringing stores and relief crews to the fleet in bondage. "I hope," he added anxiously, "that it won't be like that."
He pointed to the turbulent tidal current. "We'll be miles outside that," replied Meredith. "I expect to sight her fifteen or twenty miles east of Duncansbay Head—off the Pentland Skerries, to be exact. Hullo! Wakefield's moving."
With much spluttering of exhausts, No. 1499 swung out, gathered way, and headed for the open sea.
"Let go for'ard... let go aft!" ordered Meredith.
He invariably took the helm himself when leaving or approaching the harbour. A true son of the sea, he delighted in feeling the kick of the helm and the lift of the little craft to the curling waves. Yet, sadly, he realised that the time was drawing near when no more would he sail under the White Ensign and have the responsibility of command. For the future he would either relegate to an amateur yachtsman or go as a passenger on a pleasure steamer when he went afloat. Vaguely he wondered whether it would be anything like holding command. He thought not.
He had had a letter from Pyecroft that morning. Pyecroft was literally eating his heart out in Bournemouth, already utterly fed up with civilian life.
"I went up yesterday," he wrote. "They're running flights at two guineas a head in a Handley-Page. Couldn't resist it; but, by Jove! it was as dull as ditch-water having to watch another bloke at the joystick. Just fancy paying two guineas, when I was paid twelve bob a day in the Service for practically the same thing. And the price of everything! I never realised it when I was in the R.A.F. I tell you, it will knock the bottom out of my gratuity when I get it."
"Sufficient is the day..." thought Meredith, and as the M.L. took the first comber over her sharp bows and flung a shower of spray completely over the fluttering pennant, he threw forebodings to the winds.
"Fine little boat, eh, what?" he exclaimed, addressing Morpeth, who like an old war-dog was revelling in the sensation of being afloat once more. "Take her, if you like."
"Tough Geordie" did so with alacrity. To him it was a novel sensation. Apart from the fact that he was no longer commander of a vessel, and had perforce to spend his time superintending the embarking and landing of bluejackets and naval stores, he had been used to handling ships of large tonnage. To him No. 1497 appeared like a swift skimming-dish, and required but little helm to make her turn almost in her own length.
"Fine little craft!" he declared enthusiastically. "Takes some getting used to. I feel like a carter riding a Derby winner. Hello! Destroyer on our starboard quarter."
"Yes," said Meredith. "She stands by while we board—just a matter of precaution, you know. We can run alongside a vessel; but if she took on the boarding stunts he'd have to lower a boat."
He gave orders for the M. L. to show her distinguishing number, then, having received the acknowledgment from the destroyer, Meredith told off one of the crew to take the helm.
An hour and a half later the two M.L.'s arrived at the rendezvous. There was no sign of theHohenhoorn—the expected relief ship.
"Another dirty trick of Fritz's to keep us barging about in a seaway," bawled Wakefield through a megaphone. "Sorry I can't have you fellows on board to lunch."
"Don't want any, thanks," replied Cumberleigh feelingly. It was a far different motion, running dead slow in an M.L., from that of the heavily-ballasted Q 171. He was beginning to feel unpleasantly warm in the region immediately below the buckle of his belt.
"Nothing like a little rifle practice to buck a fellow up," shouted Wakefield. "I'll tow a bottle astern. Bet you fifty cigarettes you don't smash it in a dozen rounds."
"Done," replied Cumberleigh; and the skipper of M.L. 1499 proceeded to carry out his share of the programme.
Even at a bare five knots the bottle was a difficult target as it bobbed and zigzagged in the wake of the M.L. At the sixth shot Cumberleigh began to lose his optimism; at the ninth he looked positively glum; at the eleventh, that ricochetted clean over the target, he turned to Meredith.
"The barrel isn't leaded, is it?" he inquired. "I had the beastly bottle dead on the sights every time."
"One more to go," observed Kenneth.
Cumberleigh raised the rifle to his shoulder, took careful aim, and pressed the trigger. The bullet struck the water a couple of yards beyond the untouched target.
"You've won," shouted Cumberleigh.
"Have you a pistol on board?" inquired Morpeth, who had been a silent but interested spectator.
"Yes," replied Kenneth.
"I'll borrow it, then," continued Morpeth. "Ahoy, there! Will you take me on the same terms?"
"Right-o," replied Wakefield.
"A hundred yards," commented "Tough Geordie," thrusting the weapon under the stump of his left arm, and opening the breech to ascertain that the chambers were loaded.
Without any apparent effort, and with what appeared to be a careless movement, Morpeth raised the weapon.
"Bang! bang! bang!" it barked in quick succession.
"A hit!" exclaimed Cumberleigh enthusiastically, as the bottle leapt almost clear of the swirling wake.
"No," replied Morpeth. "I've only cut the towline."
Thrice more the heavy pistol barked. At the sixth shot the bottle, smashed to fragments, disappeared from view.
"Not bad," commented Morpeth modestly. "Considering the lively platform, it wasn't a bad shot."
"A capital shot, by Jove!" declared Kenneth.
"S'pose I'm a bit out of practice," exclaimed the R.N.R. officer. "It used to be a favourite pastime in the old Foul Anchor Line. You see, if a Dago thought of using a knife, he'd consider twice when he knew a fellow could shoot straight. For my own part, I'd as lief use my fist in a close scrap, but you can't hit a periscope at two hundred yards with your fist. One of our skippers shattered one at two hundred—that was early in '15, when Fritz wasn't so careful as he was later—and it wasn't all luck either. He was a good shot, and no mistake."
By this time Cumberleigh's threatened indisposition had passed away, and when a little later theHohenhoornwas sighted he had completely regained his sea-legs.
In answer to an International Code signal the German vessel slowed down, and finally lost way within a couple of cables' lengths of Meredith's command.
"Coming aboard?" inquired Kenneth, as No. 1497 ran alongside the towering hull of the Hun ship.
Cumberleigh mentally measured the length of the wire rope ladder that had been let down from the vessel's bulwarks. Many a time he had clambered out of the fuselage of a blimp at anything up to five thousand feet, but the swinging monkey ladder as it flogged the side of the rolling ship was quite another proposition.
He was on the point of declining the invitation when, looking up, he caught sight of a German officer regarding him with a supercilious smile.
"Yes, I'm coming," he replied. "But one minute."
Meredith paused in the act of making a cat-like spring, and stepped back a couple of paces.
"What is it?" he asked.
"See that fellow? He's an old acquaintance—von Preussen, to be exact."
"Never," declared Meredith incredulously. "He wouldn't dare risk it."
"He has, at any rate," said Cumberleigh. "More, he knows we can't touch him. Logically he's on German soil, and in a German vessel that's been given safe conduct."
"I suppose you're right," admitted Kenneth regretfully. "All I can do is to report to the S.N.O."
"That may stop his little game—for he's up to some mischief, I'll be bound," said Cumberleigh. "Right-o, I'll follow you!"
The boarding-party, consisting of Meredith, Cumberleigh, a petty officer and two bluejackets, negotiated the ladder with no casualty beyond a few barked knuckles. Meredith, receiving and returning the German captain's salute, asked for the ship's papers.
"And what is Herr von Preussen doing on board?" he demanded abruptly.
"It vos mein order," replied the skipper of theHohenhoorn. "Dis Zherman scheep."
"Quite," agreed Meredith. "At the same time I warn you that von Preussen's presence will be reported, and it would be well if he refrained from any activities that will certainly lead to trouble. Now, I'll look under hatches."
A systematic search of the holds revealed nothing in the nature of the cargo beyond what was stated in the official documents. Everything, apparently, was in order.
"Now I'll see what's aft," declared the boarding officer.
Again there was nothing to elicit suspicion, but as Kenneth passed along the main deck he saw something covered by a tarpaulin. Lifting one comer, there was what appeared to be a huge pile of evergreens.
"What's that for?" he inquired. "It's rather too early for Christmas."
"Ja, Herr Kapitan," agreed the German. "Dese are for—how you call it?—Ach, I haf it: wreaths. It is a Zherman officer that vos died, an' dese are tribute from der Vaderland."
"Then he must be deeply lamented," thought Kenneth, as he moved on. Then, filled with well-grounded suspicion, he stopped abruptly.
"Just shift those things," he ordered, addressing the two members of the M.L.'s crew. "It would be well to see if anything's underneath, although Fritz would, I take it, choose a craftier hiding-place."
The men obeyed, the German officer making no protest. They were genuine evergreens, and on plucking a leaf Kenneth found that the sap was still fresh.
"All right. Put them back and carry on," he ordered.
Meanwhile, Karl von Preussen—spy, ex-officer of the Prussian Guards, and now wearing a naval uniform—was holding Cumberleigh in conversation.
"Ah, good morning, Cumberleigh," he exclaimed with all the assurance possible, and extended his right hand. "Delighted to see you again."
"For what reason?" asked the R.A.F. captain, ignoring the Hun's hand.
"It is good to meet old acquaintances," continued the unabashed German. "Now the war is over we must be friends, and get back to our old footing. I, for example, am looking forward to visiting London again, but in a different capacity than on the last occasion."
"Might I remind you that the war is not yet over," said Cumberleigh coldly.
"Practically so," protested von Preussen. "So let bygones be bygones. I myself bear you no animosity for knocking me down on Wick pier. It was an unfortunate mistake for me to have been there. I ought to have known better. But on the other hand I thank you for your excellent entertainment at the mess at Auldhaig. The lunch was splendid, but I am afraid I cannot say the same for your entertainment of me on the fishing expedition. It caused me a considerable amount of inconvenience."
"And more to me," added Cumberleigh. "By the by, what are you doing on board?"
"I am following a temporary post as assistant secretary to Admiral von Reuter," explained von Preussen without hesitation. "It is mainly on account of my knowledge of England and the English. I am sorry you are so stand-offish, Captain Cumberleigh. It is hardly the way to treat a man who has worn the same uniform as yourself. Remember me to Jefferson, Pyecroft and Blenkinson, also other old acquaintances at Auldhaig, if you should come across them. There is some one else I should like to send a message to—a Mr. Entwistle. I believe you have met him. Well, I see your friend has completed his examination of theHohenhoorn, so we must part. Until our next meeting!"
"What has that poisonous blighter to say?" inquired Meredith, as the boarding-party returned to the M.L.
"A lot," replied Cumberleigh. "He's no fool, and in spite of his assurances I firmly believe he's something up his sleeve. I'd like to have him in irons as a matter of precaution."
"Same here," rejoined Meredith. "But it can't be did, you know. He's pinning his faith on the old saying, 'An Englishman's word is his bond'; and there you are."
"Precisely," admitted Cumberleigh.
"I say, old bean!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "Can you give me a good tip?"
"For what?" inquired Meredith cautiously.
"It's like this," explained the R.A.F. officer. "I've three days' leave. Why I've been granted it is a mystery, as one doesn't get much in the R.A.F. without asking for it. However, that is a digression. The bald facts of the case are I have three days' leave, which means that I have to report for duty on Monday. Now it's perfectly obvious that I can't get home and back in the time; I haven't the cheek to wire for an extension, so what can I do to spend the time?"
"You miserable blighter!" exclaimed Kenneth laughing, "Do you mean to tell me you didn't know we were running round to Aberdeen?"
"Guilty, m'lud," confessed Cumberleigh. "I may as well admit that I was fishing for an invite. More'n that, I've packed my kit-bag in anticipation of a sea-trip for the benefit of my health."
It was now summer. In the warm long-drawn days the Orkneys were at their best. Forgotten almost were those strenuous periods of patrol amidst the fierce winter gales and snowstorms—or at least time mellowed the reminiscences, partly obliterating the dark phases and keeping alive the pleasing episodes of the Long, Long Trick.
M.L. 1497 had been ordered to convey a small bulk of naval stores to Aberdeen—articles urgently required but not sufficient to warrant the use of a naval storeship. The run was a short one—a little over 100 miles. It would give the crew a few hours ashore to see the sights of The Granite City.
"Wakefield's not coming along, I suppose?" asked Cumberleigh.
"No; he's on Inner Patrol," replied Kenneth. "I'm short-handed, too; had to land my Sub yesterday. Got mumps or some other cheerful thing—no, don't look alarmed. It was my mistake. Toothache. I knew it was something with a swollen face about it. In a way it's a blessing in disguise. There's a bunk waiting for you."
Almost without incident, the run to Aberdeen was accomplished in record time. The motors ran without a hitch, and carrying a favourable tide most of the way M.L. 1497 averaged 19 knots "over the ground."
"Enough for to-day," remarked Meredith as the M.L. was safely berthed, and he was changing into shore-kit in the ward-room. "I'll give general leave till eleven to-night. One man will have to remain on board. Now, then, Cumberleigh, my dear old thing——"
"Gentleman to see you, sir," called out one of the men.
"Who the——" began Meredith wonderingly. He had no acquaintances in Aberdeen as far as he knew. But the next instant he gave an exclamation of pleasurable surprise as a well-known voice exclaimed:
"Eh, laddie, I thought 'twas you I saw coming in past the North Pier."
"Jock McIntosh, by the powers!" ejaculated Meredith. "Come on down. By Jove! This is great—absolutely."
It was Jock, but not the Jock of yore. McIntosh was rigged out in civilian clothes of distinctly post-war quality. He had lost the alertness that he had acquired, despite his heavy build, during his service afloat. He descended the steep ladder awkwardly, his heavy boots clattering and slipping on the brass treads of the steps.
"Eh, lad," he remarked, "but you were about right. I'm downright sorry I'm out of it. Life ashore is a bit dour, and when I saw you bringing the old packet into harbour I'd have given my last shilling to have been in sea-rig again."
"Cheer up," said Meredith. "We'll all be in the same boat before very long. Demobbing is going strong just at present. What are you doing in Aberdeen?"
"Buying a boat," replied Jock simply.
"What? Buying a boat?" exclaimed Kenneth. "What sort of boat? I thought you'd had enough of the sea."
"A good many of us thought that," said McIntosh soberly. "I was mistaken. It's the call of the sea, d'ye ken? So half a dozen of us, all out of the Motor-Boat crush, have pooled and bought a drifter. There's money in it... and we'll be afloat. You must come along, see the old boat, and be introduced to the lads."
"Glad to," replied Meredith. "So you're going fishing?"
Jock shook his head.
"No; coastal trade," he replied. "Running up along to Peterhead, Frazerburgh, Banff and perhaps Wick. The autumn we'll go south. Some of the fellows were in the Dover Patrol and at Scilly. There's freight always to be picked up."
"That chap's on a sound scheme," remarked Cumberleigh, when McIntosh had gone ashore.
"Yes; and he was always talking of what he was going to do on the beach when the War was over," said Kenneth. "There were dozens of M.L. fellows who ran yachts before the war. Now there's a chance—a good chance—to combine business with pleasure and go in for the coasting trade. It's worth thinking over."
Early next morning M.L. 1497 discharged her small but valuable consignment of Government stores, filled up with petrol, and awaited instructions. Somewhat to Meredith's disappointment, came telegraphic orders:—
"Proceed at once."
"It means a night trip," observed Meredith. "Fortunately it's calm and the nights are short. It will rather upset your leave, old man, to find yourself back at Scapa to-morrow."
"Anything wrong, I wonder?" asked Cumberleigh.
"Don't suppose so," replied Kenneth. "Merely a brain wave on the part of some shore-loafing minion in the S.N.O.'s office. However, 'a norder's a norder; an' it's a nard life,' as I once overheard a matloe remark."
Apparently M.L. 1497 was in no hurry to return to her base, for shortly after midnight her engines "konked." For some hours she wallowed in the swell a few miles from the shores of Caithness, while sweating mechanics struggled with sooted plugs and choked jets.
It was broad daylight before the trouble was overcome, and the M.L. was able to resume her interrupted return run.
"I wonder what von Preussen is doing," remarked Cumberleigh, as the rocky shores of the Orkneys appeared above the horizon. "Somehow I've got the idea that he was up to some mischief when we spotted him aboard theHohenhoorn."
"Shouldn't be surprised," agreed Meredith. "I reported the incident, but nothing seems to have been done. Unfortunately our people are hampered by the Allied Congress; otherwise the Huns wouldn't be on board now—nearly six months after the Armistice."
A quarter of an hour later Kenneth raised his binoculars.
"Seems much the same old show," he observed. "Fritz is still occupying the best berths in Scapa Flow. Wonder why we were recalled so hurriedly? Hello! There's old Wakefield coming out to meet us."
M.L. 1499 approached rapidly, then turning sixteen points to port, drew within hailing distance.
"What's wrong?" shouted Meredith through a megaphone.
"Nothing, as far as I know," replied Wakefield. "Why are you back so soon?"
"Ask me another," rejoined Kenneth. "I was afraid we had orders to pack up."
"I've heard nothing more about demobilisation," said Wakefield. "So it's not that."
"Who said there was nothing wrong?" inquired Cumberleigh, pointing with outstretched arm towards the German vessels. "They've hoisted their ensigns."
"So they have, by Jove!" exclaimed Meredith. "What does it mean? Surely the Peace Conference blokes haven't restored the ships to Germany? Wakefield, look! Germans have hoisted their colours."
Somewhere in the grey distance came the report of a gun, followed by another. A British destroyer was taking drastic measures to deal with the flagrant breach of Beatty's peremptory order.
"Whack her up!" ordered Meredith through the voice-tube. "All out."
The motor mechanics responded smartly. M.L. 1497 simply tore through the water.
"They're sinking!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "Every one of them. The dirty dogs: they're scuttling the fleet!"
There was no doubt about it. Already seven destroyers were awash. The larger vessels were heeling with distinct rapidity. The giantHindenburgwas practically on her beam ends, while her meagre crew, prepared for the consequences of the dastardly act, had already taken to the boats and were watching the mammoth vessel in her death-throes.
Close by, theSeidlitz, Derfflingerand other Hun battle-cruisers were going down with flying colours, not gloriously in the heat of battle but ignominiously scuttled by their crews. Further on theBayern, the most powerful battleship of the German navy, was capsizing. With a loud crash her heavy guns in superimposed turrets burst from their armoured bases. For a while the vessel's list was checked, until, under the action of the terrific inrush of water through her open sea-cocks, she lay completely over on her beam ends. Then, still heeling, her barnacle-covered bottom and bilge-keel showed above a smother of foam, like the back of an enormous whale. The next instant she had disappeared.
Already the crews of the M.L.'s 1497 and 1499 were at action stations. On his part Kenneth Meredith realised that he could do nothing to save the larger ships. There might be a chance of preventing the foundering of some of the Hun destroyers, and he meant to try.
Passing astern of the line of sinking battle-cruisers, Kenneth made straight for a large destroyer of the V-class that for some unknown reason was settling down slower than her consorts.
His course lay close to three or four boats manned by German officers and bluejackets, who viewed the rapidly-moving M.L.'s with considerable apprehension. Possibly they expected a few shells from the patrol boats' quick-firers. Up went their hands above their heads, and the now monotonous cry of "Kamerad!" rose from the craven crews.
Paying no heed to the boats, although the "wash" from the M.L. gave the finishing touch to the "wind up" stunt, Kenneth brought his command alongside the destroyer. Her crew were still on board, but were preparing to take to the boats.
With levelled revolver Kenneth climbed over the destroyer's rail and covered the unter-leutnant in charge.
"Have those sea-cocks closed instantly!" he ordered.
For a moment the Hun hesitated, but the stern face and set jaw of the Englishman gave him warning that delay meant trouble. He turned and gave a hurried order to some of the men. They hurried below, while to make sure that they would reclose the valves Kenneth ordered the hatches to be secured until the work was properly done.
Meanwhile two of the M.L.'s crew were at work for'ard, knocking out the Senhouse slip, and thus freeing the vessel from her mooring.
"All clear, sir!" shouted one of the hands.
Returning to the M.L., Meredith ordered "Easy ahead, starboard engine."
Still lashed alongside, No. 1497 had a stiff task to tow the partly flooded Hun, but gradually the two vessels gathered way. The nearest shoal water was a bare two cables' length away, and great was Meredith's delight when he heard the destroyer's forefoot grate on the hard bottom.
"She'll do: tide's falling," he observed. "Get those Huns out of it, Cumberleigh. Order them to embark in their own boat and row ashore. We may be in time to save another.... By Jove! I'll collar that ensign as a souvenir."
Although Cumberleigh boosted the Huns pretty severely, there was considerable delay before M.L. 1497 could cast off. It was evident that she had reached her limit in the salvage line. The Hun vessels were nearly all gone. A few had been beached through the prompt action of the British patrol and harbour service vessels. By the time Meredith gave the order for "Easy astern," the vast anchorage, crowded a brief half-hour previously, was now bare save for small craft and boats laden with Germans, who, now that their act of melodramatic bravado was accomplished, were wondering what the result of their gross breach of faith would entail.
There was flotsam everywhere. The water was covered with oil and wreckage, and the M.L.'s and other craft had to exercise great caution lest their propellers should foul the drifting planks and spars as they cruised round, shepherding the Huns to a place of safe custody.
"By Jove! Look!" exclaimed Kenneth, calling Cumberleigh's attention to a large circular mass of foliage.
"Looks like a wreath," observed the R.A.F. officer.
"Exactly," agreed Meredith. "There were dozens of them on board theHohenhoorn. The blighters said they were for an officer's funeral—a ship's funeral, if you like. And there's another one."
There were, in fact, scores, each wreath entwined with red, white and black ribbons and bearing the name of the ship on which it had been placed when the act of scuttling was performed—a circumstance which tends to prove that the violation of the Armistice terms had been connived at by the existing German government.
"Who's that semaphoring?" asked Cumberleigh, indicating a steam pinnace about three hundred yards away, in the stern-sheets of which a bluejacket was waving a pair of hand-flags.
Kenneth levelled his glasses. Simultaneously one of the M.L.'s crew prepared to receive the message.
"It's Geordie Morpeth," exclaimed Meredith. "His old packet's broken down and he's getting his signalman to ask us for a tow."
"Will—you—come—alongside?" read out the receiving signalman. "They don't give a reason, sir," he added; "but it looks as if they've fouled some wreckage."
Very cautiously M.L. 1497 approached the apparently disabled steam pinnace.
"Ahoy, there!" shouted Kenneth. "What's wrong?"
Morpeth swung his arm in the direction astern.
"We've got some one in tow," he replied. "I knew Captain Cumberleigh was aboard you, and he might be interested."
Sitting on the engine-room casing were half a dozen Germans, including an unter-leutnant, all dripping wet and looking thoroughly dejected.
"Just lugged 'em out of the ditch," remarked Morpeth, stating what was an obvious fact. "But that's not what I hailed you for. Just look aft."
What had appeared to be at first sight a tangle of debris caught in the steam pinnace's propeller was one of the German funeral wreaths. In the centre was the body of a man, his feet secured to the stern-sheets by means of a running bowline.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "It's von Preussen."
"And as dead as a door-nail," added Morpeth. "I had an account to settle with him, too; but it's wiped out now. No; it wasn't my doings. One of their boats got swamped, so I went to the rescue. There was von Preussen hanging on to a life-buoy and looking as pleased as a dog with two tails—gloating over his share in the dirty work, I suppose. We weren't more than twenty yards off when there was an explosion—compressed air, you know. Up came a jagged plank and heaved von Preussen almost clear of the water. Killed him in half a shake. And then one of these wreaths came up and floated alongside of him just as we were slipping a bowline round his feet."
"Poor devil!" ejaculated Cumberleigh. "It's strange that he met his fate that way. Sort of Nemesis."
"Perhaps it was as well," added Meredith. "He would have been in a pretty hole had he got ashore."
"Rather," agreed Morpeth. "Every Fritz, officer and man, is being shoved under arrest. Old von Reuter, the Admiral, is collared too. There's one thing: the Allies can't squabble over the disposal of the Hun Fleet now; so Fritz has unwittingly done us a good turn. Well, cheerio. I'll run my little lot of Huns across to the beach. Cheerful-looking cargo, eh?"
Going dead slow, the steam pinnace headed towards the pier, the corpse of the spy towing astern; while M.L. 1497 "carried on," patrolling the land-locked waters upon which but a brief hour ago floated the fleet by which the German Emperor had hoped, and hoped in vain, to obtain the domination of the world.
"Confoundit!" ejaculated Cumberleigh, ruefully contemplating a small amount of silver in his palm. "Bang goes another Bradbury. At this rate I'll be on the rocks before many days are over."
"Cheer up, Mr. Cumberleigh," exclaimed Pyecroft, with a marked emphasis on the "Mister." "You're only just beginning to feel your feet."
"You'll feel them in half a tick if you don't shut up," remarked the ex-R.A.F. captain grimly. "Now, then, Meredith, how's that patch setting? Or do we intend to stop here the night?"
It was the month of August 1919. The four demobbed chums—Meredith, Wakefield, Cumberleigh, and Pyecroft—were again tasting of the mixed blessings of civil life, carrying out a long-promised vow that they would celebrate their release from active service by going on a motor-cycling tour through Glorious Devon and the Delectable Duchy of Cornwall.
Barely three days had elapsed since Meredith and Wakefield found themselves "on the beach," with an accumulation of gear that they had acquired during their service afloat—kit that for the most part would be practically useless in the future.
Meredith had dug out his old 1913 motor cycle, thanking his lucky stars that he had not disposed of it when he first joined the Motor-Boat Reserve. Wakefield, too, was fortunate in that respect, although he quickly learnt the cost of accessories in the motor line compared with the price of far superior and more readily accessible articles of pre-war days.
Pyecroft had been hard hit. On the strength of his as yet unpaid gratuity he had just purchased a second-hand motor cycle, paying £20 more than it had originally cost five years ago; and he was still waiting hopefully for an advice from his R.A.F. bankers informing him that his gratuity had been paid. Moreover, he had hopes that he would be placed upon the "Unemployed List," with the rank of captain. With the advantage of a hundred and twenty days' experience of civil life he was the mentor and financial adviser of the party.
It was a change with a vengeance. Accustomed to living well at a cost of half a crown per diem for "messing," the demobbed ones were simply astounded at the prices demanded for meals at hotels, while the cost of petrol staggered them, especially when they had seen the volatile spirit wasted like water while on service.
"That's holding, I think," remarked Meredith, surveying the reinflated back tyre. "Don't know so much about it, though," he added doubtfully.
"Risk it," suggested Wakefield. "We're only two miles from Shaftesbury. You can get another tube there. This one looks as if it were on its last legs."
"That's the game," agreed Pyecroft. "Let's push on. We're expecting letters at the Post Office, and they'll be closed before we get there if we don't get a move on."
Without further delays the four climbed the long ascent out of Semley and dismounted at the old-world town of Shaftesbury, that has the reputation of being one of the loftiest boroughs in England, being nearly 800 feet above the sea.
"I'll call at the Post Office," suggested Cumberleigh, when the party had secured rooms at the hotel. "Don't worry about that tyre to-night, Meredith. I'll be back in half a tick."
"Tea won't be ready for half an hour," announced Wakefield, after the two had shed their overalls and had removed the dust of the road from their hands and faces. "Let's go for a stroll. I'll leave word with the boots for Cumberleigh to pick us up. By Jove! I feel like a fish out of water."
"So did I," admitted Pyecroft. "Missed my batman as much as anything, dear old soul!"
"I bought some tobacco this morning," said Meredith. "First lot other than Navy I've bought for months. And a shilling an ounce, too!"
"I begin to wonder whether we have won the War," declared Wakefield. "While we've been fighting the Huns the people who stayed at home have become top-dog. They seem to have plenty of money to chuck about, and don't seem to mind if a Bradbury is worth only nine shillings. Because we licked Fritz is no reason why the price of everything should go up after the War. Mind you, I'm not complaining of the prices of things during the War. We had to grin and bear it. But now, why?"
"Reaction, I suppose," suggested Meredith. "Same's us, only certain sections of the community go about it a different way—strike, and all that sort of thing."
"And meanwhile our sea-borne trade is being collared by the Yanks and Japs," remarked Wakefield. "It's all very fine talking about the superiority of British manufactured articles, but when, owing to labour troubles, they can't be got, or, if they can, they are prohibitive in price, where are you? Germany, our former serious rival, is down and out, and instead of bucking to and capturing their markets we play the fool and pay out unemployment doles. Hello'! here's Cumberleigh."
"Almost a wash-out," announced Cumberleigh. "Only one letter between the four of us, and that's for Pyecroft. Marked Air Ministry, too. Pyecroft, if that's your captaincy, it's fizz all round at dinner to-night."
The ex-lieutenant took the proffered envelope eagerly, and tore the seal with feverish haste.
"Bilkers!" he ejaculated savagely. "Listen to this: 'With reference to Air Ministry orders, your pay should have been issued at B rates instead of at the old Technical rates. It is therefore necessary to recover the pay which has been over-issued to you, and upon your gratuity being issuable the balance,i.e.£47 11s., will be deducted from your gratuity.' What do you think of that?"
"That," replied Cumberleigh, "is Economy, spelt with a big E. Retrenchment must begin somewhere, so they start on you, just to remind you that the War is over and you're a back number, old son. But, cheer up, you might have been under the daisies."
"True," admitted Pyecroft. "Yes, we've seen life, and it's no use grousing; but what did we fight for?"
"This," said Meredith, giving a comprehensive sweep of his arm across the wide valley three hundred feet below. "I don't want to pile it on and spout and all that sort of thing, but just look. Those cottages might have been in ruins like the homesteads of France and Belgium. But they're not. Our country has been spared from the foot of the victorious Hun. That's the main thing. Other considerations are simply side-issues, 'if England to herself be true.'"
THE END
THE END
PRINTED BY PURNELL AND SONSPAULTON (SOMERSET) AND LONDON
PRINTED BY PURNELL AND SONSPAULTON (SOMERSET) AND LONDON
Transcriber's Notes:This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprints have been corrected:[Karl von Pruessen stood stiffly] —>[Karl von Preussen stood stiffly][in geniune concern] —> [in genuine concern][Cumberleigh——for that was the name] —>[Cumberleigh—for that was the name][Cumbereigh shrugged] —> [Cumberleigh shrugged][so much as winkin'. hopin'] —> [so much as winkin'. Hopin'][imparting descipline with] —> [imparting discipline with][you aan be reckless] —> [you can be reckless][Some of the follows] —> [Some of the fellows][unless its potting] —> [unless it's potting]A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are notmentioned here.
This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprints have been corrected:[Karl von Pruessen stood stiffly] —>[Karl von Preussen stood stiffly][in geniune concern] —> [in genuine concern][Cumberleigh——for that was the name] —>[Cumberleigh—for that was the name][Cumbereigh shrugged] —> [Cumberleigh shrugged][so much as winkin'. hopin'] —> [so much as winkin'. Hopin'][imparting descipline with] —> [imparting discipline with][you aan be reckless] —> [you can be reckless][Some of the follows] —> [Some of the fellows][unless its potting] —> [unless it's potting]A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are notmentioned here.