CHAPTER XX--CapturedFor a few seconds the optics of the submerged craft remained trained upon the isolated smack. Although the submarine was forging slowly ahead, the periscopes rose no higher out of the water. Evidently those in charge of the vessel were not anxious to rise to the surface until they had satisfied themselves that it was fairly safe to do so.His attention attracted by his brother's fixed gaze, Leslie sprang to his feet and grasped the weather shrouds."What's that, Jack?" he asked."What you wanted to see--a submarine.""One of ours?""Hope so," replied the sub laconically; but he had great misgivings on that score. Had it been a British submarine making for Portsmouth, she would almost certainly be running on the surface, in order to make her number before approaching the heavily-defended Needles channel.Wildly excited, Tim forgot that he was steering and, putting the helm down, allowed the smack to gybe "all standing". The thud of the heavy boom as it swung across and brought up with a violent jerk, had the effect of making Old Garge emerge from the cuddy in a state of nautical profanity."What be you up to, you young lubber?" he shouted."Submarine, granfer," replied his youthful relative."No excuse for gybing," continued the skipper. "Do you mind what you are up to. Where be she?"He shaded his eyes, expecting to see one of the British "C" or "E" class running awash. Instead, he saw only the tips of the periscopes."Drat it!" he ejaculated. "'Tain't for no good. Anyways, we're too small for her to trouble about we."Apparently his conjectures were correct, for, with a feather of white foam, and a sullen swirl well in the wake of the periscope, the submarine disappeared wholly from sight."'Er's afeard of fouling our nets," declared Old Garge. "Now, if we gives the patrol-boat notice, an' that submarine is done for, there's fifty pun' at least for me. A matter of a couple o' months back my friend Peter----"But what happened to Peter was a story that Jack Sefton was not permitted to hear, for with a quick, unhesitating motion the submarine reappeared at less than three cables' lengths ahead of the smack. Shaking herself clear of the water, she displayed the unmistakable outlines of a Germanunterseeboot, although no number was visible on her grey conning-tower.With remarkable celerity an officer and half a dozen seamen appeared from below, while at the same time a quick-firer was raised from its "housing", for'ard of the conning-tower, and trained upon the lucklessFidelity.Steadily the U boat approached within hailing distance, then, making a half-circle, slowed down on a parallel course to that of the smack."Fishing-boat ahoy!" shouted the German officer. "Cut adrift your nets and run alongside, or I'll have to sink you."Old Garge gave a gasp of astonishment and looked enquiringly at Jack Sefton."Them nets cost a sight o' money," he exclaimed ruefully. "Now if I had a gun----""Hurry, there!" came the stern mandate from the U boat."You'll have to obey, I fancy," said the sub. "There's no escape. Perhaps they'll let you off, as the smack is only a very small one. If you give them any lip they'll cut up rough."Deliberately Old Garge cut the trailing line of nets, bent the outward part to a life-buoy and cast it overboard. As he had remarked, nets were expensive affairs, and he was not going to cut them adrift without a means of recovering the gear should the Huns let him off lightly."Back your head-sails, Tim!" ordered the skipper, at the same time putting the helm hard down and allowing theFidelityto come up motionless into the wind, within a couple of yards of the bulging side of the U boat."Throw us a line!" was the peremptory greeting.Agilely a fair-haired unter-leutnant boarded the smack, followed by three of his men. Giving a cursory glance at the fish-well, he said something in German to one of the seamen. In less than a minute the night's haul had been transferred to the captor."Low-down robbers!" muttered Old Garge under his breath, but the unter-leutnant caught the imprecation."Have a care," he said sternly, "or we sink your boat. What these men? You carry a large crew for a little ship, Captain.""They are my men," declared Old Garge loyally."Perhaps," drawled the German, then, suddenly turning, he strode up to Sefton and his brother."Hold your hand out!" he ordered.Leslie sniggered. In his opinion the uniformed Hun ought to have added the words "Naughty boy". The lad was enjoying the novel experience. His one regret was that George Crosthwaite was not present to share in the adventure.Critically the unter-leutnant examined Jack's extended hand. In spite of the fact that it was discoloured with tar, and reeked of fish, the sub's hand showed that it belonged to a person not of the ordinary working class. The long, tapering fingers, manicured nails, and absence of horny protuberances on the palm "gave him away"."What is your name?" demanded the German."Smith," replied Sefton promptly.Again the irritating, dubious, and speculative "Per-haps". The sub realized that he was in a tight corner."What this wound--how caused?" enquired the unter-leutnant, indicating the white scar on the young officer's wrist--the legacy of the affair off Jutland. "Ach! Shell wound, hein? You are of military age. Stand aside."In spite of the brown jersey and the soiled serge trousers, the keen-witted Hun had come to the correct conclusion, that the tall, bronzed man was not a genuine smack hand. Not satisfied with the self-styled Smith's replies, he decided to interrogate his companion."Your name?" he demanded of Leslie, with a fierceness that effectually quenched all further inclination on the part of the youth to snigger."Smith, too," replied Leslie. "He's my brother."Again a display of palmistry. Leslie's hands, though grubby, were also unmistakably unused to rough work."How old?""Fifteen?""You lie.""On my word of honour," declared Leslie."No matter," rejoined the unter-leutnant. "You old enough to fight. Suppose----"A hail came from the U boat. Herr Kapitan had mounted the platform in the wake of the conning-tower and was calling attention to the mist that was bearing down in detached patches. Already the rest of the fishing-boats were lost to sight."You go on board there," continued the German unter-leutnant, indicating the submarine. Then, turning to Old Garge, he added:"We let you go. Too much trouble to sink your little fischer-boat, and you have no skiff. Stop here one hour. If you move or make signal, then we return and blow you to pieces. You onderstan'?"Without condescending to notice Tim, who was watching the course of events with wide-open eyes, the unter-leutnant signalled to the two Seftons to board the submarine. Then, followed by his men, the Hun regained his own craft.A minute later, with Jack and Leslie prisoners of war, the U boat slid quietly beneath the surface.Old Garge obeyed instructions until the tips of the periscopes vanished. Then he began to gather in the mainsheet."Trim your heads'ls, Tim," he ordered. "Us'll be off as hard as we can.""How about the nets, grandfer?" asked Tim."Can bide," declared the old man as theFidelity, gathering way, sped to give the alarm that another U boat had been active in the Channel.Three-quarters of an hour later, the smack ran alongside one of the patrol-boats operating in Christchurch Bay, and reported the incident. Quickly the news was wirelessed, and a regular fleet of swift motor-boats was soon upon the scene, while overhead a couple of sea-planes hovered, in the hope of detecting the shadow of the U boat against the white sandy bottom.But in vain. The unter-leutnant's threat that he purposed remaining in the vicinity for an hour was a mere piece of bluff. Without loss of time, the submarine was running at her maximum submerged speed in a south-westerly direction, intent upon putting as great a distance as possible between her and the hornets whose activities had already taken a heavy toll from these modern pirates of the Black Cross Ensign.U99 was one of the most recent type ofunterseebooten. Possessing a great radius of action, she combined the roles of mine-layer and submerged torpedo-craft. She was one of nine detailed for operations in the English Channel, and, since the passage through the Straits of Dover had long been regarded as "unhealthy" by the German Admiralty, the flotilla had been ordered to proceed and return via the Faroe Isles and the west coast of Ireland.Although the U99 had disposed of her cargo of mines without mishap--several of the German submarines having been "hoist with their own petards"--her efforts had not met with marked success. Beyond torpedoing a tramp, and sinking another by gun-fire, she had failed to carry out the work of frightfulness that had been expected of her. Having exhausted her stock of torpedoes, and making only one effective hit, she was on her way home.After three hours of terrible suspense, when she found herself enmeshed in a net somewhere off the back of the Wight--a predicament from which she freed herself by means of the specially-devised wire-cutters on her bows--U99 was forced to come up for a breather early in the morning. Provisions were running short, and the sight of the solitary fishing-smack tempted her commander to investigate, with the result that Sub-lieutenant Sefton and his brother found themselves in the unenviable position of prisoners in the hands of the enemy. More, they were cooped up in a wretched U boat, faced with the possibility of being hunted by their fellow-countrymen and consigned to Davy Jones in the undesirable company of a crew of piratical Huns.No wonder that Jack felt like kicking himself for having embarked upon the ill-starred voyage in the smackFidelity."Yes, by Jove!" he muttered. "Here's a pretty kettle of fish--and the lid on with a vengeance."
CHAPTER XX--CapturedFor a few seconds the optics of the submerged craft remained trained upon the isolated smack. Although the submarine was forging slowly ahead, the periscopes rose no higher out of the water. Evidently those in charge of the vessel were not anxious to rise to the surface until they had satisfied themselves that it was fairly safe to do so.His attention attracted by his brother's fixed gaze, Leslie sprang to his feet and grasped the weather shrouds."What's that, Jack?" he asked."What you wanted to see--a submarine.""One of ours?""Hope so," replied the sub laconically; but he had great misgivings on that score. Had it been a British submarine making for Portsmouth, she would almost certainly be running on the surface, in order to make her number before approaching the heavily-defended Needles channel.Wildly excited, Tim forgot that he was steering and, putting the helm down, allowed the smack to gybe "all standing". The thud of the heavy boom as it swung across and brought up with a violent jerk, had the effect of making Old Garge emerge from the cuddy in a state of nautical profanity."What be you up to, you young lubber?" he shouted."Submarine, granfer," replied his youthful relative."No excuse for gybing," continued the skipper. "Do you mind what you are up to. Where be she?"He shaded his eyes, expecting to see one of the British "C" or "E" class running awash. Instead, he saw only the tips of the periscopes."Drat it!" he ejaculated. "'Tain't for no good. Anyways, we're too small for her to trouble about we."Apparently his conjectures were correct, for, with a feather of white foam, and a sullen swirl well in the wake of the periscope, the submarine disappeared wholly from sight."'Er's afeard of fouling our nets," declared Old Garge. "Now, if we gives the patrol-boat notice, an' that submarine is done for, there's fifty pun' at least for me. A matter of a couple o' months back my friend Peter----"But what happened to Peter was a story that Jack Sefton was not permitted to hear, for with a quick, unhesitating motion the submarine reappeared at less than three cables' lengths ahead of the smack. Shaking herself clear of the water, she displayed the unmistakable outlines of a Germanunterseeboot, although no number was visible on her grey conning-tower.With remarkable celerity an officer and half a dozen seamen appeared from below, while at the same time a quick-firer was raised from its "housing", for'ard of the conning-tower, and trained upon the lucklessFidelity.Steadily the U boat approached within hailing distance, then, making a half-circle, slowed down on a parallel course to that of the smack."Fishing-boat ahoy!" shouted the German officer. "Cut adrift your nets and run alongside, or I'll have to sink you."Old Garge gave a gasp of astonishment and looked enquiringly at Jack Sefton."Them nets cost a sight o' money," he exclaimed ruefully. "Now if I had a gun----""Hurry, there!" came the stern mandate from the U boat."You'll have to obey, I fancy," said the sub. "There's no escape. Perhaps they'll let you off, as the smack is only a very small one. If you give them any lip they'll cut up rough."Deliberately Old Garge cut the trailing line of nets, bent the outward part to a life-buoy and cast it overboard. As he had remarked, nets were expensive affairs, and he was not going to cut them adrift without a means of recovering the gear should the Huns let him off lightly."Back your head-sails, Tim!" ordered the skipper, at the same time putting the helm hard down and allowing theFidelityto come up motionless into the wind, within a couple of yards of the bulging side of the U boat."Throw us a line!" was the peremptory greeting.Agilely a fair-haired unter-leutnant boarded the smack, followed by three of his men. Giving a cursory glance at the fish-well, he said something in German to one of the seamen. In less than a minute the night's haul had been transferred to the captor."Low-down robbers!" muttered Old Garge under his breath, but the unter-leutnant caught the imprecation."Have a care," he said sternly, "or we sink your boat. What these men? You carry a large crew for a little ship, Captain.""They are my men," declared Old Garge loyally."Perhaps," drawled the German, then, suddenly turning, he strode up to Sefton and his brother."Hold your hand out!" he ordered.Leslie sniggered. In his opinion the uniformed Hun ought to have added the words "Naughty boy". The lad was enjoying the novel experience. His one regret was that George Crosthwaite was not present to share in the adventure.Critically the unter-leutnant examined Jack's extended hand. In spite of the fact that it was discoloured with tar, and reeked of fish, the sub's hand showed that it belonged to a person not of the ordinary working class. The long, tapering fingers, manicured nails, and absence of horny protuberances on the palm "gave him away"."What is your name?" demanded the German."Smith," replied Sefton promptly.Again the irritating, dubious, and speculative "Per-haps". The sub realized that he was in a tight corner."What this wound--how caused?" enquired the unter-leutnant, indicating the white scar on the young officer's wrist--the legacy of the affair off Jutland. "Ach! Shell wound, hein? You are of military age. Stand aside."In spite of the brown jersey and the soiled serge trousers, the keen-witted Hun had come to the correct conclusion, that the tall, bronzed man was not a genuine smack hand. Not satisfied with the self-styled Smith's replies, he decided to interrogate his companion."Your name?" he demanded of Leslie, with a fierceness that effectually quenched all further inclination on the part of the youth to snigger."Smith, too," replied Leslie. "He's my brother."Again a display of palmistry. Leslie's hands, though grubby, were also unmistakably unused to rough work."How old?""Fifteen?""You lie.""On my word of honour," declared Leslie."No matter," rejoined the unter-leutnant. "You old enough to fight. Suppose----"A hail came from the U boat. Herr Kapitan had mounted the platform in the wake of the conning-tower and was calling attention to the mist that was bearing down in detached patches. Already the rest of the fishing-boats were lost to sight."You go on board there," continued the German unter-leutnant, indicating the submarine. Then, turning to Old Garge, he added:"We let you go. Too much trouble to sink your little fischer-boat, and you have no skiff. Stop here one hour. If you move or make signal, then we return and blow you to pieces. You onderstan'?"Without condescending to notice Tim, who was watching the course of events with wide-open eyes, the unter-leutnant signalled to the two Seftons to board the submarine. Then, followed by his men, the Hun regained his own craft.A minute later, with Jack and Leslie prisoners of war, the U boat slid quietly beneath the surface.Old Garge obeyed instructions until the tips of the periscopes vanished. Then he began to gather in the mainsheet."Trim your heads'ls, Tim," he ordered. "Us'll be off as hard as we can.""How about the nets, grandfer?" asked Tim."Can bide," declared the old man as theFidelity, gathering way, sped to give the alarm that another U boat had been active in the Channel.Three-quarters of an hour later, the smack ran alongside one of the patrol-boats operating in Christchurch Bay, and reported the incident. Quickly the news was wirelessed, and a regular fleet of swift motor-boats was soon upon the scene, while overhead a couple of sea-planes hovered, in the hope of detecting the shadow of the U boat against the white sandy bottom.But in vain. The unter-leutnant's threat that he purposed remaining in the vicinity for an hour was a mere piece of bluff. Without loss of time, the submarine was running at her maximum submerged speed in a south-westerly direction, intent upon putting as great a distance as possible between her and the hornets whose activities had already taken a heavy toll from these modern pirates of the Black Cross Ensign.U99 was one of the most recent type ofunterseebooten. Possessing a great radius of action, she combined the roles of mine-layer and submerged torpedo-craft. She was one of nine detailed for operations in the English Channel, and, since the passage through the Straits of Dover had long been regarded as "unhealthy" by the German Admiralty, the flotilla had been ordered to proceed and return via the Faroe Isles and the west coast of Ireland.Although the U99 had disposed of her cargo of mines without mishap--several of the German submarines having been "hoist with their own petards"--her efforts had not met with marked success. Beyond torpedoing a tramp, and sinking another by gun-fire, she had failed to carry out the work of frightfulness that had been expected of her. Having exhausted her stock of torpedoes, and making only one effective hit, she was on her way home.After three hours of terrible suspense, when she found herself enmeshed in a net somewhere off the back of the Wight--a predicament from which she freed herself by means of the specially-devised wire-cutters on her bows--U99 was forced to come up for a breather early in the morning. Provisions were running short, and the sight of the solitary fishing-smack tempted her commander to investigate, with the result that Sub-lieutenant Sefton and his brother found themselves in the unenviable position of prisoners in the hands of the enemy. More, they were cooped up in a wretched U boat, faced with the possibility of being hunted by their fellow-countrymen and consigned to Davy Jones in the undesirable company of a crew of piratical Huns.No wonder that Jack felt like kicking himself for having embarked upon the ill-starred voyage in the smackFidelity."Yes, by Jove!" he muttered. "Here's a pretty kettle of fish--and the lid on with a vengeance."
For a few seconds the optics of the submerged craft remained trained upon the isolated smack. Although the submarine was forging slowly ahead, the periscopes rose no higher out of the water. Evidently those in charge of the vessel were not anxious to rise to the surface until they had satisfied themselves that it was fairly safe to do so.
His attention attracted by his brother's fixed gaze, Leslie sprang to his feet and grasped the weather shrouds.
"What's that, Jack?" he asked.
"What you wanted to see--a submarine."
"One of ours?"
"Hope so," replied the sub laconically; but he had great misgivings on that score. Had it been a British submarine making for Portsmouth, she would almost certainly be running on the surface, in order to make her number before approaching the heavily-defended Needles channel.
Wildly excited, Tim forgot that he was steering and, putting the helm down, allowed the smack to gybe "all standing". The thud of the heavy boom as it swung across and brought up with a violent jerk, had the effect of making Old Garge emerge from the cuddy in a state of nautical profanity.
"What be you up to, you young lubber?" he shouted.
"Submarine, granfer," replied his youthful relative.
"No excuse for gybing," continued the skipper. "Do you mind what you are up to. Where be she?"
He shaded his eyes, expecting to see one of the British "C" or "E" class running awash. Instead, he saw only the tips of the periscopes.
"Drat it!" he ejaculated. "'Tain't for no good. Anyways, we're too small for her to trouble about we."
Apparently his conjectures were correct, for, with a feather of white foam, and a sullen swirl well in the wake of the periscope, the submarine disappeared wholly from sight.
"'Er's afeard of fouling our nets," declared Old Garge. "Now, if we gives the patrol-boat notice, an' that submarine is done for, there's fifty pun' at least for me. A matter of a couple o' months back my friend Peter----"
But what happened to Peter was a story that Jack Sefton was not permitted to hear, for with a quick, unhesitating motion the submarine reappeared at less than three cables' lengths ahead of the smack. Shaking herself clear of the water, she displayed the unmistakable outlines of a Germanunterseeboot, although no number was visible on her grey conning-tower.
With remarkable celerity an officer and half a dozen seamen appeared from below, while at the same time a quick-firer was raised from its "housing", for'ard of the conning-tower, and trained upon the lucklessFidelity.
Steadily the U boat approached within hailing distance, then, making a half-circle, slowed down on a parallel course to that of the smack.
"Fishing-boat ahoy!" shouted the German officer. "Cut adrift your nets and run alongside, or I'll have to sink you."
Old Garge gave a gasp of astonishment and looked enquiringly at Jack Sefton.
"Them nets cost a sight o' money," he exclaimed ruefully. "Now if I had a gun----"
"Hurry, there!" came the stern mandate from the U boat.
"You'll have to obey, I fancy," said the sub. "There's no escape. Perhaps they'll let you off, as the smack is only a very small one. If you give them any lip they'll cut up rough."
Deliberately Old Garge cut the trailing line of nets, bent the outward part to a life-buoy and cast it overboard. As he had remarked, nets were expensive affairs, and he was not going to cut them adrift without a means of recovering the gear should the Huns let him off lightly.
"Back your head-sails, Tim!" ordered the skipper, at the same time putting the helm hard down and allowing theFidelityto come up motionless into the wind, within a couple of yards of the bulging side of the U boat.
"Throw us a line!" was the peremptory greeting.
Agilely a fair-haired unter-leutnant boarded the smack, followed by three of his men. Giving a cursory glance at the fish-well, he said something in German to one of the seamen. In less than a minute the night's haul had been transferred to the captor.
"Low-down robbers!" muttered Old Garge under his breath, but the unter-leutnant caught the imprecation.
"Have a care," he said sternly, "or we sink your boat. What these men? You carry a large crew for a little ship, Captain."
"They are my men," declared Old Garge loyally.
"Perhaps," drawled the German, then, suddenly turning, he strode up to Sefton and his brother.
"Hold your hand out!" he ordered.
Leslie sniggered. In his opinion the uniformed Hun ought to have added the words "Naughty boy". The lad was enjoying the novel experience. His one regret was that George Crosthwaite was not present to share in the adventure.
Critically the unter-leutnant examined Jack's extended hand. In spite of the fact that it was discoloured with tar, and reeked of fish, the sub's hand showed that it belonged to a person not of the ordinary working class. The long, tapering fingers, manicured nails, and absence of horny protuberances on the palm "gave him away".
"What is your name?" demanded the German.
"Smith," replied Sefton promptly.
Again the irritating, dubious, and speculative "Per-haps". The sub realized that he was in a tight corner.
"What this wound--how caused?" enquired the unter-leutnant, indicating the white scar on the young officer's wrist--the legacy of the affair off Jutland. "Ach! Shell wound, hein? You are of military age. Stand aside."
In spite of the brown jersey and the soiled serge trousers, the keen-witted Hun had come to the correct conclusion, that the tall, bronzed man was not a genuine smack hand. Not satisfied with the self-styled Smith's replies, he decided to interrogate his companion.
"Your name?" he demanded of Leslie, with a fierceness that effectually quenched all further inclination on the part of the youth to snigger.
"Smith, too," replied Leslie. "He's my brother."
Again a display of palmistry. Leslie's hands, though grubby, were also unmistakably unused to rough work.
"How old?"
"Fifteen?"
"You lie."
"On my word of honour," declared Leslie.
"No matter," rejoined the unter-leutnant. "You old enough to fight. Suppose----"
A hail came from the U boat. Herr Kapitan had mounted the platform in the wake of the conning-tower and was calling attention to the mist that was bearing down in detached patches. Already the rest of the fishing-boats were lost to sight.
"You go on board there," continued the German unter-leutnant, indicating the submarine. Then, turning to Old Garge, he added:
"We let you go. Too much trouble to sink your little fischer-boat, and you have no skiff. Stop here one hour. If you move or make signal, then we return and blow you to pieces. You onderstan'?"
Without condescending to notice Tim, who was watching the course of events with wide-open eyes, the unter-leutnant signalled to the two Seftons to board the submarine. Then, followed by his men, the Hun regained his own craft.
A minute later, with Jack and Leslie prisoners of war, the U boat slid quietly beneath the surface.
Old Garge obeyed instructions until the tips of the periscopes vanished. Then he began to gather in the mainsheet.
"Trim your heads'ls, Tim," he ordered. "Us'll be off as hard as we can."
"How about the nets, grandfer?" asked Tim.
"Can bide," declared the old man as theFidelity, gathering way, sped to give the alarm that another U boat had been active in the Channel.
Three-quarters of an hour later, the smack ran alongside one of the patrol-boats operating in Christchurch Bay, and reported the incident. Quickly the news was wirelessed, and a regular fleet of swift motor-boats was soon upon the scene, while overhead a couple of sea-planes hovered, in the hope of detecting the shadow of the U boat against the white sandy bottom.
But in vain. The unter-leutnant's threat that he purposed remaining in the vicinity for an hour was a mere piece of bluff. Without loss of time, the submarine was running at her maximum submerged speed in a south-westerly direction, intent upon putting as great a distance as possible between her and the hornets whose activities had already taken a heavy toll from these modern pirates of the Black Cross Ensign.
U99 was one of the most recent type ofunterseebooten. Possessing a great radius of action, she combined the roles of mine-layer and submerged torpedo-craft. She was one of nine detailed for operations in the English Channel, and, since the passage through the Straits of Dover had long been regarded as "unhealthy" by the German Admiralty, the flotilla had been ordered to proceed and return via the Faroe Isles and the west coast of Ireland.
Although the U99 had disposed of her cargo of mines without mishap--several of the German submarines having been "hoist with their own petards"--her efforts had not met with marked success. Beyond torpedoing a tramp, and sinking another by gun-fire, she had failed to carry out the work of frightfulness that had been expected of her. Having exhausted her stock of torpedoes, and making only one effective hit, she was on her way home.
After three hours of terrible suspense, when she found herself enmeshed in a net somewhere off the back of the Wight--a predicament from which she freed herself by means of the specially-devised wire-cutters on her bows--U99 was forced to come up for a breather early in the morning. Provisions were running short, and the sight of the solitary fishing-smack tempted her commander to investigate, with the result that Sub-lieutenant Sefton and his brother found themselves in the unenviable position of prisoners in the hands of the enemy. More, they were cooped up in a wretched U boat, faced with the possibility of being hunted by their fellow-countrymen and consigned to Davy Jones in the undesirable company of a crew of piratical Huns.
No wonder that Jack felt like kicking himself for having embarked upon the ill-starred voyage in the smackFidelity.
"Yes, by Jove!" he muttered. "Here's a pretty kettle of fish--and the lid on with a vengeance."