CHAPTER XXV
"Flirt, you're a Brick!"
"What do you make of it, Mr. Macquare?" enquired the Hon. Derek. "It looks as if winter has stolen a march on us."
"It has, sir," agreed the Lieutenant, as he rubbed his hands to restore the circulation. Even in the electric radiator-heated cabin the temperature was only a few degrees above freezing-point.
Mr. Macquare had just returned from a "spell ashore". It was close on sunset, by which time the British officers and crew had to be on board. During the hours of daylight they were allowed to wander freely over a considerable part of the great Russian arsenal, provided they conformed to the regulations laid down by the very democratic commandant.
The work of repairing R19 was proceeding apace. Already the diving-rudder had been straightened, and would be replaced the following day unless unforeseen circumstances arose to delay the operation. New tubes for the periscopes had been obtained, and only the fitting of the lenses and minor adjustments had to be made before the submarine was again ready for sea.
"The ice is forming rapidly on the Neva," continued the Lieutenant. "It's thick enough to bear a man's weight almost everywhere, except in the Morskoi Canal. They've got the ice-breakers hard at work already."
The Morskoi Canal is an artificial channel cut in the comparatively shallow Gulf of Finland, and affords deep-water communication below Cronstadt and the capital.
"Let's hope that the Baltic won't be completely frozen over during the next few days," remarked the Lieutenant-Commander. "We're running things pretty fine, but I see no alternative."
"Any news of Fordyce, sir?" asked the Lieutenant.
"Not yet," was the reply. "In fact I hardly expect to hear until he puts in an appearance. The youngster's not a sort of hare-brained fellow who would look for trouble. Just before he left——"
A discreet tap upon the cabin door interrupted the Hon. Derek's remarks.
"Come in!" he called out.
The door was opened, and the heavy curtain pushed aside, revealing the anxious features of Able-Seaman Cassidy.
"Well, Cassidy?" asked the skipper encouragingly.
"It's about that dawg, sir," began the sailor. "Mr. Fordyce's dawg."
"Has she bitten anyone?"
"Sure, no, sir; leastwise not as I knows of. But she's absent without leave, sir."
"For how long?"
"Can't say, sir. Cook's mate says as 'ow Flirt was in the galley just afore dinner. Me and my mates have looked everywhere."
"Have you tried Mr. Fordyce's cabin?"
"Sure that Oi have, sir."
"Well, she's not here, Cassidy," said the Hon. Derek, giving a perfunctory glance under the settee. "Have another hunt round and then report to me. The dog may have taken it into her head to go ashore for a prowl round."
Cassidy saluted and backed out of the cabin to confer with his equally anxious mates on the next course to adopt. The men were grievously concerned about Flirt's disappearance. Never before had the mascot been "absent without leave ".
Some of the crew went on deck and began a pantomime conversation with a Russian seaman on sentry duty on the quay side. By dint of signs and the promise of a "plug o' ship's 'bacca", the Muscovite was made to understand that R19's mascot was missing, and that her recovery would result in a substantial reward.
All that evening there was a constant stream of Russian bluejackets and marines, bringing with them curs of all sizes and descriptions, until the harassed officer of the watch was reduced to the borders of unparliamentary language, while the crew were partly solaced by the sight of the impromptu dog show.
Morning came, but with it no signs of Flirt. A sympathetic Russian petty officer, who could speak English, volunteered to make enquiries at all the landing-places, although he expressed his opinion that the dog must be roaming about somewhere on the island.
With the resumption of work Flirt's disappearance was temporarily forgotten. The Hon. Derek and Mr. Macquare were anxiously dividing their attention between the progress of the repairs and the steady formation of the ice. Already the water alongside was covered with two inches of clear ice, while, in order to enable the divers to labour at their task of refixing the hydroplane, men had to be told off to keep the floes away from the submarine's bows.
Suddenly Cassidy, who was engaged in red-leading the newly-fixed periscopes, gave a shout of surprise.
"Sw'elp me!" he exclaimed, pointing at a small brown object showing clearly on the glistening field of ice. "There's Mr. Fordyce's dawg."
The animal had made her way across the expanse of frozen water until she gained the edge of the still-open channel, on which slabs of ice of varying sizes and thickness were drifting.
Informed of Flirt's return by the A.B.'s shout, the Lieutenant-Commander whipped out his binoculars.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "the little beast's about to swim for it! She'll be done in, Macquare."
Even if the dog managed to withstand the low temperature of the water, she would be in considerable danger from the drifting floes. Quickly the Hon. Derek rose to the occasion and ordered the Berthon to be launched.
The collapsible boat was unfolded in record time and dropped over the side on the ice. Three men, one of whom was Cassidy, followed, and, grasping the gunwale, urged the Berthon forward like a sleigh across the 300 yards of frozen water that separated the submarine from the canal.
"Avast there, Flirt!" shouted Cassidy when the boat drew within hailing distance, for the terrier was dipping one paw into the water as a preliminary to jumping in.
At the sound of the A.B.'s voice Flirt cocked one ear, gave a yelp of welcome, and leapt from the fixed ice to a detached piece that had drifted within reach.
"Silly little josser!" exclaimed another of the Berthon's crew as the floe tilted under the dog's weight. It looked as if the animal would slide backwards in spite of her frantic efforts to find a firm foothold. Not until her body was half immersed did the sheet of ice recover itself, only to tilt in the opposite direction and precipitate Flirt into the bitterly cold water.
Slipping and floundering, the three men pushed the boat to the edge of the canal, then, heedless of the danger of the sharp edge ripping the canvas hull, they launched her and leapt in.
"Give way for all you're worth!" shouted Cassidy, who, in the absence of a rudder, gave the rowers directions by pointing with his hand.
Already Flirt was showing signs of exhaustion. Her fore-paws were threshing the water, instead of moving strongly and noiselessly beneath the surface. Her hind-quarters were sinking lower, while her head was thrown well back—sure signs that the task she had undertaken was beyond her power.
"Way 'nough!" ordered Cassidy. "Grab her, Bill!"
The seaman addressed boated his oar and leant over the gunwale, but, caught by the stiff breeze, the lightly-built craft drifted to leeward, just beyond arm's length of the now-benumbed animal. Before the man could grasp his oar, Flirt disappeared beneath the surface.
Without hesitation Cassidy took a header over the pointed stern of the Berthon, to reappear ten seconds later with Flirt firmly held by the scruff of her neck. Willing hands relieved the brave sailor of his burden and helped him into the boat.
"Crikey! Ain't it 'orribly parky!" he exclaimed. "'Ere, Bill, give me an oar before I'm frozen stiff."
"'Ow about it?" enquired Bill, who, having taken Cassidy's place in the stern-sheets, was devoting his attention to the now torpid dog. "Do the 'Instructions for the Treatment of the Apparently Drowned' hold good for a bloomin' animile? Lumme, what's she got lashed round 'er neck—'er kit in a brown-paper parcel, I believe."
"Don't heave it overboard," protested Cassidy, as Bill cut the lashings. "Strike me pink! There's writing on it—'Prisoners in a cellar in this house.—Fordyce'. Hallo! This is news for our skipper. Flirt, old girl, you're a brick!"
Flirt, beginning to take a renewed interest in life, feebly wagged her stumpy tail. Perhaps she was rather glad she wasn't one in the literal sense of the word, as a brick would have made a poor show in the waters of the Neva.