CHAPTER VI—WORK AHEAD
When the four Navy Boys and their friends came over the summit of the hill behind the English seaport which the Zeppelin had so recently raided and where it had come to grief, the bomb-set fires in the town had become controlled. Even the conflagration at the point where the Zeppelin had fallen was now entirely smothered.
Fortunately neither the marine hospital nor the port admiral’s headquarters had been hit by the Hun bombs. The first named was crowded with refugees from merchant ships sunk by the Hun submarines or blown up by floating mines. Almost daily the remnants of the unfortunate crews were brought in; for by this time the Germans had begun shelling the boats as they escaped from sinking ships, striving to carry out their master’s orders, “that no trace be left” of such breaking of the international law agreed to long since by all civilized nations.
But if the hospital was not hit, damage enough had been done in all good conscience. The crowds were gone from about the wrecked Zeppelin and from the bombed schoolhouse. The shelling of open boats at sea was not a greater crime than the indiscriminate dropping of bombs on this unfortified town; and the wiping out of that school teacher and her pupils could never be forgotten. Phil Morgan turned his eyes away from the place, shuddering as he thought of the horror.
“Let’s go down to the admiral’s station—there where his white ensign flies—and report about the spy escaping from us,” Whistler said.
“And explain how he’s dressed,” Al Torrance added. “For let me tell you, that chap, speaking English and all, and dressed like one of us Yanks, will cause a lot of trouble.”
“I’d like to get something decent to put on myself,” grumbled George Belding.
“Tee, hee!” giggled Ikey Rosenmeyer. “You don’t look any more like one of these farmers than nothin’ at all!”
“Must say,” grinned Whistler, “the clothes don’t become you, George.”
“You go fish!” snapped the unfortunate. “I hate to show up aboard and face—who’s your boss, Lieutenant Commander Lang, isn’t it?”
“Cracky! Yes,” Al said. “And you are billed for the old Colodia? Say, the boys will give you a welcome!”
“How did you come to get billeted to the Colodia?” Whistler Morgan asked curiously. “You came over on your father’s yacht?”
“No,” said Belding, quietly. “I didn’t say that. I joined the crew of the one-time Sirius because when I arrived in England your old Colodia was out scrapping with the part of the Hun fleet that tried to make a break.”
“Oh, yes,” said Whistler. “We were in that fight; but we were on the Kennebunk.”
“And our gun made the first hit and we sunk a Hun battleship!” cried Al.
“Huh!” scoffed Frenchy, “you listen to Al and Whistler, and you’d think their old gun fought the whole battle.”
“Did you fellows really help work a gun in that fight?” cried George Belding, in amazement and admiration. Even the giant British seaman gazed at the Navy Boys with increased respect.
“We were in the fight, and we belonged to one of the gun crews,” admitted Whistler. “But we are willing to agree that we did not do it all. Frenchy and Ikey were there.”
Belding laughed. “Well, let’s go along to the admiral’s, and I’ll tell you how I came to get billeted on the Colodia. Uncle Sam is training more men than he has boats for—yet. But the Colodia’s lost several of her crew, hasn’t she, from one cause or another?”
“Of course. And are you a ‘filler-in’?” said Whistler.
“Guess so. I came over expecting to go right aboard the destroyer, as I say. But I had to wait for her to come back from the North Sea. And there was the old Sirius, with a chap in command that I knew. So I got a chance to take a trip. We took out a convoy bound westward; and on the way back we had a scrap with a sub.”
“Did you sink her?” asked Frenchy eagerly.
“We did something to it. The boys said they knew she was a goner. Oil and litter rose to the surface after we dropped a depth bomb. I’m sorry for her crew; but they are in bad business.”
“Don’t yuh be too bloomin’ sorry for the filthy ’Uns,” growled Willum Johnson.
“Say, Big Bill,” sang out Frenchy, “don’t you be so bloodthirsty. You are a regular tiger—to hear you talk.”
“Don’t forget them school kids down there,” replied the man, shaking his head.
Whistler had hoped to put the memory of the innocents butchered by the Zeppelin out of his memory for a few minutes. He shuddered, and led the way into the head of one of the steep streets, lined on either side by white painted cottages.
The streets leading down to the harbor were so steep that Al said he always felt like putting out his hands to brace himself against the walls of the little houses as they went down.
The boys grew silent when they heard the weeping and wailing from inside the houses. Here the children had lived who were so mangled in the explosion of the Hun bomb. The destruction below in the middle of the town could not have been so bad, for there were few women and children there. This was not market day.
It scarcely seemed possible that the raid should have been accomplished and done so much damage ashore three hours before. The harbor lay peacefully enough now in the last light of the setting sun. The ships of the merchant fleet, all camouflaged most fantastically, lay swinging at their moorings. There were several gray cruisers and a number of destroyers, for this was a busy port. Both foodstuffs and troops were landed here. The destroyers were all so painted that one could scarcely be distinguished from another. Only the four Navy Boys knew just where the Colodia was anchored.
The party arrived at the admiral’s station and were stopped by the sentinel at the gate. The admiral was not at his desk, for he was out viewing the damage the bombs had done, and to interview the prisoners brought in.
But there was an officer who heard the boys’ report and thanked them for what they had tried to do. George Belding gave a complete description of the daring spy who had landed from the Zeppelin. It was pretty sure that he and Whistler Morgan would know the fellow if they ever came face-to-face with him again.
The ex-coster would have to face punishment when he got aboard his ship.
“Hit’s me for the dungeon,” was the way he expressed his expectation of spending some time in the ship’s brig. “Good-bye, lads,” he said on parting from the Americans. “Yuh’re a bloomin’ bunch o’ sports, that’s wot’ yuh his. There’s no manner o’ doubt you Hamericans is hall right.”
“And you are all right, Bill, when you are sober,” George Belding said rather grumpily. “I hope I’ll never meet you again when you have been indulging in liquor.”
He said this with feeling; but Big Bill only grinned. “You’ll ’ave to visit me haboard ship, lad,” he said, shaking his head. “Wot’s bred hin the bone his bloomin’ ’ard to change, hand don’t yuh forget hit!”
George Belding merely grunted. He was in no pleasant mood because of the “hick” costume, as Frenchy called it, which he was obliged to wear aboard ship. The ridiculous garments and shoes occasioned much hilarity when they reached the Colodia’s launch.
“Hey! what you got there? Going to bring a cow along for him to milk?” was the jocular demand.
Isa Bopp, who would never be anything but a greenhorn himself, no matter how long he was at sea, demanded:
“Where did you fellers pick up that farmer?”
“Farmer yourself!” whispered Ikey behind the sharp of his hand. “It’s the port admiral in disguise. He’s going aboard to see Commander Lang on a secret mission. Something big’s coming off, Isa.”
“There’ll be something big come off when he shucks them shoes,” chuckled Bopp.
Meanwhile Phil Morgan was explaining to the petty officer in charge of the launch just who George Belding was, and how he came to be without a uniform. Belding would otherwise have had trouble getting aboard the Colodia, without his papers that the spy had run away with.
The loiterers were soon brought in by the guard and the launch put off for the destroyer. It was dark when they arrived at the Colodia. Ensign MacMasters, the Navy Boys’ very good friend, was at the gangway, and he passed Belding on Whistler’s word. Phil and the new boy went at once to Commander Lang.
It was eight bells, and the anchor watch was just being mustered. There was no searchlight or signal drills on this evening because of the air raid. There might be other Zeppelins in the fog that hung over the sea.
The boys coming aboard at once swung their hammocks and had a chance before the first call at 8:55 to visit around with their friends and swap experiences. Of course, everybody was excited over the air raid; but nobody had been in the thick of it as had Philip Morgan and his chums.
As there is no smoking allowed below the main deck after 7:30 p. m. the lads could gather on the berth deck and talk until the first anchor watch was set. Then the thrill of the boatswain’s pipe called for silence on the berth deck and the boys that were not on watch or already in their hammocks prepared swiftly to be under covers when taps was sounded at five minutes past nine.
But on this night, almost immediately after nine o’clock, there was a chattering of the wireless. The boys on watch saw the messenger dash along the deck from the wireless station with the message for the commander.
A murmur passed from group to group about the main deck of the destroyer. It even seeped below, and the boys who were not yet asleep heard the whisper.
Orders! Something of moment afoot that had not been expected; for the Colodia was not supposed to leave port till the next day.
Whistler, whose watch it was, almost stumbled against Ensign MacMasters in the waist of the ship. It was the ensign’s own fault, for he was on the starboard side.
“Hello, my boy!” he said to Phil. “Heard the news?”
“I know there is news, sir,” said Whistler. “But I don’t know what it is.”
“You’ll all know soon. We’ll up anchor and sail in half an hour. Orders from the port admiral. He has got information from the prisoners that there may be another Zeppelin fallen in the sea outside. They saw her fall, and it may be possible for us to rescue some of her company.”
“More of the baby-killing Heinies?” exclaimed Whistler.
“Ah, well, we have to be merciful,” said the ensign. “They were obeying their orders. We must obey ours.”
“But you know, Mr. MacMasters,” said Morgan earnestly, “if our superiors ordered us to commit the crimes the Huns commit, there would be mighty few of us who would obey orders.”
“Aye, aye, my lad,” sighed the older man. “But remember we have not lived under Prussian masters all our lives. We have different teaching and different ideals, thank God!”
In ten minutes the whole ship’s company was making ready for departure.