CHAPTER XIX
HELD UP IN THE NORTH SEA
"BEHOLD US, Tress old boy!" exclaimed Fuller, when in the privacy ofLieutenant-commander Ronald Tressidar's cabin the old chums couldforget the slight differences in their respective ranks. "Threestormy petrels; nobody loves us. Kind of social pariahs, don't youknow. Even the Huns wouldn't have us on two of their packets, afterlittle Seaplane 445B slung us out. And, worse, that blighter Aubynwashed his hands of us. Suppose you'll be slinging us out next,Tress?"
"I shall be delighted," replied Tressidar. "The moment----"
"Surly old cave-dweller!" continued the flight-lieutenant. "That'swhat comes of being shipmates with a mouldy bird in a captiveballoon. You will be delighted to--what were you saying?"
"Delighted to feed, partly clothe and certainly educate you, myfestive, until we fall in with the 'Hippodrome.' This last conditiondoesn't apply to your companions," proceeded Tressidar. "But when orwhere we fall in with the 'Hippo' is a matter for sheer conjecture.I believe now this duck hunt is over (the rest of the Huntorpedo-craft bar two have been accounted for: I suppose you heardthat?) the three seaplane carriers are off south to tackle thisZeebrugge business again. However, trust to luck and don't whine ifit kicks you. Them's my sentiments, my dear old pal."
It was the "bar two" that kept the "Antipas" and the rest of herconsorts patrolling the wild North Sea, until news had beendefinitely received to the effect that the forlorn pair of Hun boatshad done one of three things--had been sunk, captured or hadcontrived to slip through the cordon into a home or neutral port.
For the next twenty-four hours nothing of incident occurred. Thedestroyer, maintaining her course within set limits as stolidly as apoliceman on his beat, encountered little to attract the attentionof her look-out. Every two hours she was in touch with her "next onstation," and receiving the information that all was well andnothing doing she would starboard helm and retrace her course.
"Yes, pretty tame," commented Tressidar in reply to a remark ofBarcroft's, "but we are getting quite used to it. Yesterday's scrapcame as a little tonic, although we didn't have so very much to do.Aubyn had the bounder well in hand already when we came up."
"This youth," remarked Fuller, indicating the flight-sub, "is anoptimist of the deepest dye. What d'ye think is his idea ofpenultimate bliss? Having dinner at a swagger hotel somewhere on theEast Coast, with the blinds up and every available electric lightswitched on."
"That shows, Mr. Barcroft," said the lieutenant-commander, "that youhave a pretty firm belief in the fact that the war will be over someday--unless you are prepared to shell out to the tune of fiftypounds for an offence against the Defence of the Realm Act."
"Heaven forbid, sir!" replied Barcroft. "But, personally speaking,I'm fed up with having to hang about ashore in utter darkness. It'snecessary, of course."
"Of course," echoed Tressidar. "It's part of the mess of pottage wereceived when we sold our birthright on that memorable morning whenBleriot flew across the Channel. From that hour our insularsuperiority was threatened not by La Belle France, though. Only theother day----"
A knock upon the door of the cabin, followed by the appearance of amessenger, interrupted the lieutenant-commander's narrative.
"Orficer of the watch's compliments, sir," reported the man, "an'there's a Danish vessel; making to the nor'-west, distant threemiles."
"Very good--carry on," replied the skipper, and snatching up his caphe hurried on deck, followed by the trio of naval airmen.
The Dane proved to be a two-funnelled, twomasted craft of about3,000 tons. On the foremost funnel and along her sides were paintedher national colours, while to leave no doubt as to her identity thewords "Trone--Danmark" appeared amidships in letters six feet inheight.
"I've signalled to her to stop, sir," reported the officer of thewatch. "Ah, there she goes--well, signalman?"
The "bunting-tosser," with his telescope glued to his eye, calledout the letters of a string of bunting that rose to the "Trone's"mast head. His mate, having written various cabalistic signs on asignal-pad (the numbed state of his hands prevented his making anylegible letters), hurried off to consult the International CodeBook..
"Is it necessary for me to heave-to?" was the significance of theJane's signal. "I have been examined twice already."
"Then three for luck, you bounder!" chuckled Tressidar. "Signalman,hoist the International 'I D'."
I D--signifying the peremptory order, "Heave-to or I will fire intoyou," was a message not to be ignored. Patches of foam under thevessel's counter and streaming for'ard past her water-line announcedthat her engines were going astern in order to check her way.
"Like a trip in the boat, Mr. Barcroft?" asked Tressidar, as henoticed the flight-sub regarding the boarding party with studiedinterest. "Very good; you may learn a few tricks of the trade."
With her guns trained upon the suspect--for experience had taughtBritish officers that Hun raiders do not scruple to sail underneutral colours--the "Antipas" circled round the now stationary"Trone," the while maintaining a sharp look-out for hostilesubmarines that have a habit of keeping in touch with ships liableto examination much in the same manner as a pilot fish attends upona shark.
"She looks quite a mild cuss," observed the sub of the duty boat toBilly, "but one never knows. A few weeks back I was boarding someold hooker. Pitch dark night and raining like blue blazes. We'd justrun alongside when the blighters heaved something overboard--lookedlike an elephant by the size of it. Anyway, it missed us by a yardand gave us all a sousing, which we didn't mind as we were prettywet already. Then she pushed off for all she was worth, thinkingthat our skipper would have to moon about and pick us up. He did,"added the young officer grimly, "--after he had squared accountswith the brute--another would-be 'Moewe.' A torpedo at five hundredyards settled her. In bow!"
The bowman boated his oars, and balancing himself in the plungingbows of the little craft, dexterously secured the end of a coil ofrope that was thrown from the "Trone's" deck.
Up the swaying "monkey-ladder" swarmed the British officers and men,and gaining the Dane's deck were received by the dapper,clean-shaven skipper.
"Of course, of course, I understand," replied the Dane in excellentEnglish when the sub apologised for having had to compel him toheave-to. "Our papers are here. We are from Esbjerg to Newcastlewith passengers and general cargo."
"Very good," replied the sub in charge of the boarding-party. "I'llhave a squint at your papers. Say, Barcroft, would you mindexamining the passengers? Try a few words of German on 'em unawares.That generally fetches the black-listers."
The civilians, to the number of nineteen, were formed upon the poop.A few bore the appearance of being respectable, the others lookedutterly out-and-out scarecrows..
The "Trone's" second mate appeared with the passenger list. ToBilly's surprise ten of the men were English.
"Yes; men sent back from Germany," declared the mate, who, like hisskipper, spoke English fluently. "They were exchanged, and were tohave travelled through Holland, but the Dutch steamers aretemporarily stopped, so they came through Denmark instead."
The scarecrows greeted Barcroft with cheerful smiles as heapproached. In spite of their rags, the torments of hunger anddegradation that they had undergone, they were British to thecore--men over sixty years of age who, deemed to be useless by theGermans, had been repatriated: living examples of the gentle andhumane treatment afforded to the unfortunate captives who had theill-luck to fall into the hands of the apostles of kultur.
Billy interrogated the men one by one. No need to doubt their words.One and all were unanimous in their story of the horrors of thefamine-prisons of Germany.
"I won't ever turn up my nose at a dogbiscuit after this, sir," saidone old veteran of seventy-two.
"William McDonald--where's William McDonald?" inquired Barcroftreading the names from the list.
"Here, sir."
The speaker was of different appearance from the nine. Althoughdre
ssed in rough clothes his garments bore the appearance of beingpractically new, nor did his features betray the traces of months ofsemi-starvation.
"Not much to complain about," he replied in answer to theflight-sub's question. "I was at Eylau. Fair amount of food and ofgood quality."
"You are not sixty, by any means," said Barcroft.
"No, not fifty yet. Heart trouble--fit for nothing, so they sent meback to England."
"H'm," muttered the flight-sub.
"He's one of a few that drew a lucky number, I'm thinking, sir,"remarked the man who stood next to him. "Fair slave-driven, that'swhat we were. But that's all over now, thank God."
The rest of the passengers passed muster. They were Danishsubjects--merchants and farmers, brought over at the instance of theBritish Government to assist in certain transactions between GreatBritain and Denmark.
"A clean bill of health," reported Billy as the destroyer's subrejoined him.
"And all serene down below," rejoined the latter. "We'll shove off.Thanks, captain, for your assistance; sorry we had to hold you up,but we're at war, you know."
"Yes," added the Dane, "and you have our moral support. I wish thatwe were a bigger nation. We, too, have old scores to wipe off--myfamily lived at Flensburg for years until '66. Flensburg is inGermany now, but some day--who knows?"
"A good sort," announced the sub, as the boat made her way back tothe "Antipas." "These Danes remember Schleswig-Holstein almost ifnot quite as much as the French do Alsace Lorraine. I shouldn't besurprised if they chip in just before the end, if only to get theirlost provinces back. How about Denmark extending frontiers to theKiel Canal, and making that artificial waterway an internationalconcern, eh?"
The sight of the destroyer dipping her ensign caused both officersto turn their heads and look at the "Trone." The latter was againunder way and had just rehoisted her ensign after saluting theBritish warship.
"I feel downright sorry for those ten Britishers," thought Billy."Their experiences have put years on to their lives."
But, had he known, he might have made an exception; for, holdingaloof from his companions, Mr. William McDonald was thanking hislucky stars that he had again bluffed the inspecting officer. Withinthe next twelve hours William hoped to reassume the name of AndrewNorton, trusting to his natural cunning to explain satisfactorilythe reason why he left the neighbourhood of Barborough so suddenlyon the night of the raid.
Evidently Siegfried von Eitelwurmer, _alias_ Andrew Norton,otherwise McDonald, had strong reasons for leaving his Fatherland inorder to risk his life in the British Isles.
Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.: A Story of the Great War Page 19