II.
But Fritz was not the only thing they hunted; for once, in the English Channel, the Mariner was sent to sea to look for Fritz's mother, a suspicious sailing-vessel supposed to be supplying him with petrol and other commodities.
It was midnight when the orders came, pitch-dark, snowing hard, and blowing half a gale of wind, and there was considerable risk in taking the ship to sea at all. First they had an altercation with the side of the jetty, the brunt of which was taken by the whaler at her davits, and caused that boat to open her seams and crack her ribs in resentful indignation. Then, since there was no room to turn, Wooten had to perform the rather ticklish manœuvre, in the midst of a snow-flurry, of steering stern first through a line of closely anchored ships with no lights. Any naval officer will agree that handling a destroyer in such circumstances, with a strong wind broad on the beam, the night so dark that it is impossible to see more than a hundred yards, and clouds of black, oil-fuel smoke making it darker still, is apt to be hair-raising and startling. Wooten found it so at any rate, and congratulated himself that he succeeded in getting to sea with no further damage than a badly squeezed whaler.
Shortly before daylight they arrived at the spot where the suspicious sailing-vessel had been sighted from the shore. They were all in a state of suppressed excitement, for they fully believed they were in for something at last; while the guns' crews, fidgeting with impatience, were standing by their weapons ready to open fire.
Wooten himself was very hopeful. 'If this report is true,' he said to the first lieutenant, 'I shouldn't at all wonder if we found a submarine taking in petrol alongside her.'
MacDonald, inclined to be sceptical, shook his head and smiled. 'I have my doubts, sir,' he said with true Scottish caution. 'It's my opinion that the whole yarn is pure bunkum.'
When the dawn broke in a blaze of scarlet and orange there was a sailing-craft in sight, and she was barely a mile away from the place where the submarine supply-ship had been reported. She seemed rather an ordinary-looking vessel, ketch rigged, with a sturdy, broad-beamed hull, and was hove-to under the lee of the land. Her sails were patched and dingy, and, like Joseph's coat, were of many colours. But really and truly there was nothing at all remarkable about her, though most of the officers and fully half the men were firmly convinced that she was a Hun of most immoral character.
The Mariner approached her warily, with guns trained, and the men's fingers itching on their triggers. They longed to fire. The Jessie and Eva, however, evinced no particular interest in the proceedings; and when the destroyer steamed up close alongside, and went astern to check her way, only a small, sleepy-eyed boy was visible on deck.
'Where d'you come from?' Wooten bellowed through a megaphone.
'Brixham, surr!' answered the youth with a broad west-country burr, as a tousled head appeared up the after-companion and stared at the destroyer in amazement.
'Where's your skipper?' the lieutenant-commander asked.
'Here Oi be, surr!' said the owner of the head, scrambling out of his cubby-hole, and appearing on deck in jersey and sea-boots. 'What'll you be waantin', surr?'
'Where d'you come from?'
'Brixham, surr.'
'How long have you been out?'
'Nigh on three-fourr days, surr.'
'What's your name?'
'Jarge, surr—Jarge Willyum Cobley,' answered the man, in unmistakable Devonshire accents.
Wooten turned to the first lieutenant. 'Lower the dinghy, and go on board and have a look at her,' he said rather disappointedly. 'Seems to me she's as innocent as a new-born babe; but ask 'em if they've seen any men-of-war or submarines about, and find out how long they've been here. Get back as soon as you can.'
'Ay, ay, sir.'
The boat was lowered, and the Jessie and Eva, for the first time in her career, found herself boarded by an officer and two men armed to the teeth.
'Whaat du th' li'l man-o'-warr waant, surr?' queried the skipper, eyeing MacDonald's holstered weapon with some apprehension. 'Us is from Brixham, surr.'
'Yes, that's all right. I merely want to have a look round.'
He examined the smack fore and aft; but there was not the least vestige of anything incriminating about her. Her papers were in order, her two men and the boy were obvious west-countrymen, and she herself was full of fish. She had been in her present position or thereabouts for the last three days, the skipper said, and he intended returning to Brixham with her catch that afternoon.
'Well, there's nothing the matter with you,' said the first lieutenant with a laugh, as he prepared to get back to his boat. 'Care for a bit of navy plug?' He knew well enough how to get the right side of fishermen, and never dreamt of boarding a trawler without a couple of inches of strong navy plug tobacco in his pocket.
Old Cobley beamed. 'Ay, surr,' he said, accepting the gift. 'Us doan't of'en get navy 'bacca. Would 'e care fur some fish, surr? 'Tis fine fresh caught.'
'Thanks very much,' answered the lieutenant, who had taken the precaution of bringing two buckets across in the boat with him; 'I should.'
'Peterr!' the old fisherman bellowed to the boy, 'put some fish inter th' orficer's boat, an' luk lively naow.'
Peter obeyed his orders, and the dinghy eventually returned to the ship with the buckets full and her bottom covered with a slippery, sliding mass of newly caught herrings, a turbot or two, and dozens of other varieties which nobody could put a name to. They had sufficient to provide the ship's company of the Mariner with two excellent meals, and the total value of the haul, if brought ashore, could not have been far short of thirty shillings. Tobacco to the approximate value of four-pence sometimes does work wonders, and well MacDonald knew it. He was a Scotsman.
But Wooten was anxious to find out how the report had originated. His orders to search for a suspicious vessel had mentioned 'a black-hulled, ketch-rigged craft, with several white patches in her mainsail,' and this description suited old Jarge Cobley's smack to a T. Moreover, she had been found close to the position mentioned in the report.
'Any silly juggins could have seen that she was innocent!' the lieutenant-commander declared wrathfully. He forgot that it was easy to be wise after the event, and that, barely half-an-hour before, he and most of his men had been quite firm in their conviction that the Jessie and Eva was a Hun in disguise.
The Mariner first signalled to a coastguard station ashore, but the coastguardmen declined all responsibility, and merely stated that they had heard a rumour that, the previous afternoon, some agitation had been caused amongst the military authorities in the neighbouring coast town of Baymouth by a report that a strange vessel had been seen hovering in a most suspicious manner off the coast. The coastguardmen, having satisfied themselves that there was no such craft in the neighbourhood, had taken no further interest in the matter. That was all they professed to know about it.
Wooten himself did not know until afterwards that the garrison of Baymouth consisted of a small detachment of the 8th (Service) battalion of the Midshire Rangers. It was commanded by a major who, having contracted a chill, was absent on sick-leave. Next came a captain, and he, the day being Sunday, had gone off on his motor-bicycle to see his wife, leaving Second Lieutenant Tarry-Diddle, a newly caught subaltern, in charge of the gallant troops. Tarry-Diddle, a most promising and zealous youth, was the 'military authority' referred to.
The Mariner steamed three miles along the coast to Baymouth, and here the first lieutenant was landed in the dinghy to make inquiries. There was some surf on the beach, and he was very wet before he got ashore; but, escorted by a local constable and a tribe of urchins, who were firmly convinced that he was a prisoner from a German submarine just sunk in the bay by the destroyer, he was eventually ushered into the presence of the senior military officer in the town. This time it was Captain Bumble-Dyke, and he was having his breakfast.
An hour later MacDonald returned to the ship and described the scene to Wooten. 'I got ashore,' he said, 'and asked for the boss military man in the place. He was having his breakfast when I arrived, and was quite affable; asked me if I'd care for some of his bacon and eggs, in fact. I was wet through and beastly cold, so said I'd have a cup of coffee. Then I asked him about the suspicious sailing-vessel of his. He evidently thought at first that I'd come to pay an official call, though why he should imagine I'd come at that hour in the morning, wet through, and wearing a dirty muffler and sea-boots, I'm sure I don't know. He seemed rather surprised, and stared at me for a bit, and then asked what suspicious sailing-vessel I meant. He said he hadn't heard of one, and went off into a yarn about his having been away all the day before, his motor-bike having punctured, and his only having got back at two o'clock that morning.' No. 1 smiled at the recollection.
'Go on with the yarn,' said Wooten, beginning to laugh.
'Well, sir, I told him that the military people at Baymouth had reported a suspicious craft off the coast yesterday evening. "It's the first I've heard of it," he said. "Well, your people reported her, anyhow," I told him. "It must have been Tarry-Diddle!" he answered. "He was in charge here all yesterday. He's not said anything to me about it, though it's true I haven't seen him since I returned." "Who's Tarry-Diddle?" I asked. "He's my subaltern," he said. "We'd better send along for him." We did, and he fetched up in about ten minutes. Seemed a decent little chap, but a bit nervous. "What's this about a suspicious vessel off the coast?" asked the captain. "Yes, sir. We sighted one yesterday, and reported it," says Tarry-Diddle, looking at me rather anxiously. "Most suspicious-looking craft. Ketch rigged, black hull, and several white patches in her mainsail. She's been hovering round the bay for three days, sir." I laughed; couldn't very well help it, for he'd described the Jessie and Eva exactly. "What's the matter?" the captain asked me. "Matter!" I said. "Why, your suspicious craft is nothing but an ordinary Brixham trawler. We've just examined her." "The deuce she is!—Whom did you report her to, Tarry-Diddle?" "I sent a wire straight to the Admiralty, sir," the poor little chap said. The captain got rather purple in the face. "Good God!" he shouted, jumping up, "d'you mean to say that you wired to the Admiralty to tell 'em that—— Oh Lord! you'll get me hanged! What the deuce d'you mean by it?" "I'm awfully sorry, sir," said Tarry-Diddle, rather frightened and very white about the gills. "I thought I'd done the right thing." "Done the right thing, you blithering young jackass!" roared the captain. "Why the devil didn't you get the naval people to have a look at her? How on earth can you tell whether a ship's suspicious or whether she isn't? I go away for twelve hours, and leave you in charge, and this sort of thing happens! I tell you, Tarry-Diddle, it won't do. It won't do at all! I shall have to report the matter to the colonel!" He started stamping up and down the room in a fearful state of excitement. I couldn't help laughing.'
Wooten was laughing himself. 'What happened then?' he spluttered.
'Tarry-Diddle got in a bit of a funk, sir. "It happened like this, sir," he explained. "The sergeant-major was walking along the front yesterday afternoon"—— "To hell with the sergeant-major!" shouted Bumble-Dyke; "where the deuce does he come in?" "That's just what I'm trying to explain, sir," said Tarry-Diddle; and I do believe the young devil was laughing. "Oh, go on, and let's hear what you have to say!" spluttered the captain. "Well, sir, the sergeant-major was walking along the front yesterday afternoon behind two retired naval officers—at least, he said they were retired naval officers. They were talking, and one of them drew the attention of the other to the sailing-craft, and said he thought she looked rather suspicious. The other chap agreed, and said the Admiralty ought to be asked to send a ship to have a look at her." "I've never met any retired naval officers here," grumbled Bumble-Dyke. "I've seen most of the residents in the club, too." "I'm only telling you what the sergeant-major said, sir," Tarry-Diddle went on. "He came back to me at once, and told me what he'd heard, so I sent the wire off to the Admiralty on one of those yellow forms." "That accounts for our little excursion, then," I chipped in.'
'Oh Lord!' gasped Wooten, 'this is the limit. Go on. What happened then?'
'Well, sir,' MacDonald continued, laughing, 'the captain called the poor little chap all the names he could think of; told him he ought to be court-martialled, and shot at dawn, and all the rest of it. They were still at it hammer and tongs when I came away.'
Wooten smiled. 'I feel rather sorry for Tarry-Diddle,' he said. 'But I'm not certain he didn't deserve it, draggin' us out of harbour in the middle of the night all for a ruddy craft which any darned son of a gun could have seen was only a Brixham trawler.' It did not occur to him that he had been badly taken in himself. 'By the way,' he added, 'who were the two retired naval officers?'
'They were invented by the sergeant-major,' MacDonald chuckled. 'One of them was the steward at the yacht club, who goes about in a yachting-cap and a gold badge, and t' other was the man who's in charge of the bathing-machines in the summer. That's what I was told, at any rate.'
'Lord!' said the skipper, laughing, 'it reminds me of that parson, at the other place, who said he had seen the periscope of a submarine at seventeen miles. Seventeen perishin' miles, mark you! He sent a wire to the Admiralty, too, and they called out every destroyer within a hundred miles. But it wasn't Fritz at all, merely the mast of a ship hull down on the horizon. It was rather a clearer day than usual, that's all!'
No. 1 laughed. 'They're all so jolly keen on reporting things, sir; but I must say this sort of thing is the limit.'
'I agree,' said Wooten, chuckling. 'However, we mustn't let Tarry What's-his-name get into trouble. I'll send in a report sayin' we couldn't find any rakish-lookin' craft in the neighbourhood, and that I expect the military people were mistaken. You know,' he added, 'these fellows who've joined the new army are devilish good chaps and devilish keen, and one doesn't want to have 'em strafed unless one can't help it—what?'
'I quite agree, sir.'
'And when we get in I'll write a letter to Bumble-Dyke, asking him not to be too hard on him.'
He was as good as his word, and never regretted it, for less than a year later the name of Temporary Lieutenant Richard Tarry-Diddle, as he was then, appeared in the Honours List. He had won his Victoria Cross at Ypres.