CHAPTER VIII.
THE DUTCH TRAWLER.
For the next five weeks workmen were toiling day and night upon the "Saraband," from the moment she arrived at Portsmouth Dockyard.
A clean sweep was made of her sumptuous cabin fittings. The white enamelled woodwork of the promenade and boat-decks was ruthlessly "scrapped." Over the engine and boiler-rooms a protective steel deck was built, while light armour, sufficient to stop any hostile shell from the light guns of the German commerce destroyers, was placed in position round the water-line, and also in other important and otherwise vulnerable parts of the ship.
In addition to the two 4.7-in. guns already carried four more of the same calibre were provided, two on the fo'c'sle and two amidships, while on the promenade-deck four twelve-pounders were mounted behind armoured shields. Finally the ship from truck to water-line was painted a neutral grey; her name was changed, and under the White Ensign appeared in the Navy List as H.M. Armed Merchant Cruiser "Strongbow."
During that six weeks Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, R.N.R., had been far from idle. In company with the rest of the ship's deck officers he had been sent to Whale Island, the Naval Gunnery School, to undergo a rapid though none the less thorough preliminary course of gunnery. Aubyn simply revelled in the work. Gunlaying, position finding, gunnery control, both in theory and practice, kept him hard at it, and when the examination took place he came off with flying colours, somewhat to the astonishment and great satisfaction of the authorities, who had hitherto regarded the R. N. R. officers in a rather tolerant spirit.
Just before the date fixed for commissioning H.M.S. "Strongbow" Terence was accorded weekend leave—from three o'clock on Friday to nine a.m. on Monday. Needless to say he employed the time by paying a visit to his home.
Mrs. Aubyn lived in a picturesque little house on the East Coast, between Caistor and Yarmouth, standing within fifty yards of the low cliffs. The house had been designed by Captain Aubyn, who did not live long to enjoy his well-earned retirement. It was a low rambling building. Over the two end rooms was a flat roof, accessible by means of a "hatchway." This was the worthy captain's "quarter-deck," on which was mounted on a tripod a powerful telescope. There was also a flagstaff set at a rake from the centre of the side wall. From this staff Captain Aubyn regularly hoisted the ensign at the regulation hour, hauling it down at sunset. This he did regularly until a few days before his death. In one of the rooms under the flat roof was a semicircular projection, pierced with several small windows that commanded an extensive marine view. This room the captain was wont to dub the "casemate."
People in the neighbourhood were apt to regard the house as the output of a somewhat eccentric mind; but it was rather the result of a life-long career in various ships of the Royal Navy, and so strong were the traits of the service that Captain Aubyn introduced them as far as possible into his private life. Whenever his friends rallied him up on the subject of "Aubyn's Battery" the captain smiled complacently. The reference pleased him far more than his acquaintances were aware.
Terence Aubyn's irregular and hasty visits were always a source of deep pleasure to his mother. In his breezy way the lad would take his parent by storm, converting her usually quiet existence into a brief round of excitement.
It was after eleven o'clock at night when the sub. reached Yarmouth. He had previously wired to the effect that he would be home, as quickly as the unpunctual train service would permit.
Once clear of the town Terence set off at a steady swinging pace along the Denes. Several times he was challenged by patrols, incidents that served to remind him that war was close at home. He vaguely wondered whether such precautions were necessary, with the Grand Fleet holding the North Sea and keeping every German warship skulking in harbour. It seemed so unreal, even with vast armies fighting on the Continent, and the sound of their guns almost within hearing distance of Dover, that the peaceful Norfolk coast should have to be protected against possible raids.
At length Aubyn reached the commencement of the cliff path. It was a starry night, sufficiently light to enable him to follow the well-known track without risk of blundering over the edge of the miniature precipice on to the sands twenty feet below.
After a mile or so the path skirted a slight indentation of the cliff. As Terence passed this spot he saw a light flash at the bottom of the hollow. Then the gleam vanished.
In the starlight Terence could discern the figure of a man. In spite of the chilliness of the night air he wore no overcoat. He was standing motionless, with his back towards the sub.
"The fellow's dropped something," soliloquised Aubyn. "I'll go and bear a hand."
The sand muffled his footsteps till he was within ten yards of the stranger. Hearing the sound the man faced about and flashed an electric torch upon the ground.
"Lost something, sir?" asked Terence affably. "Can I help you?"
"My pipe," returned the other. "It must have fallen out of my pocket."
The voice seemed strangely familiar, yet the sub. could not call the owner to memory.
"You live about here, I presume?" asked Aubyn. "I think I recognize your voice——"
The next moment he uttered an involuntary cry of pain and clasped his hand to his eyes. The stranger had suddenly thrown a handful of some burning substance straight into the young officer's face.
For some moments Terence stood still, with his hands up to his face. The pain was excruciating. He could do nothing, but he could hear the footsteps of the rascal as he ran from the scene of his dastardly work.
"The brute has thrown quicklime in my eyes," thought the sub. "I'll have to find my way to the sea and try to save my sight. Good heavens!"
Like a flash he now recognized the voice. It was that of the spy, Major Karl von Eckenhardt.
Gradually Aubyn made his way down the gently shelving sands, guided by the murmurs of the waves breaking on shore. Before he had gone many yards he gave vent to a prodigious sneeze, quickly followed by another.
"That's luck indeed," muttered the young officer. "It isn't lime after all; it's pepper."
Presently the involuntary flow of tears cleared the irritating grains from his eyes, and though they still smarted terribly he was now able to see. In addition a veil had been lifted from before his mental vision: hitherto rather sceptical concerning the reports of German spies on the East Coast he was no longer in doubt on that score.
There was also another aspect to the situation. Perhaps von Eckenhardt had learnt the home address of the young officer who had materially assisted in thwarting his designs upon the "Saraband." Motives of revenge may have brought the German hither, possibly to strike a blow at Aubyn through his parent. Terence tried to dismiss the suggestion as absurd, but the presentiment grew upon him. He resolved to get his mother to move into either Yarmouth or Norwich at the first opportunity.
Thus reasoning Terence retraced his steps. He meant to inform the nearest patrol of what had occurred, and if the telegraph and telephone could be pressed into immediate service the spy ought to be apprehended before morning.
"'Alt. Who goes there?"
"Friend!" replied Terence promptly.
"Rummy time of night to be taking a constitutional," commented the sentry, stepping from the shelter afforded by a clump of furze; then recognizing Aubyn's naval cap and great-coat—
"Beg pardon, sir," he said apologetically.
"Have you seen anyone else pass this way recently?" demanded Terence.
"No, sir; not during the last three-quarters of an hour. Is anything wrong, sir?
"I stumbled across a fellow using a flash lamp."
"I wish I had, sir," declared the sentry, a smart young Territorial. "Just my luck I didn't. If I had——" and he tapped the magazine of his rifle significantly.
All thoughts of making his way home had vanished from Aubyn's mind. The demands of duty completely eclipsed the call of home. He hastened back to Yarmouth and reported the matter to the naval authorities.
Energetic steps were taken to capture the daring spy. Telegraph and telephone were resorted to, verbal descriptions being transmitted to all police stations in the vicinity, while orders were issued to the Territorial troops guarding the railway stations to exercise particular vigilance in this direction.
It was also equally desirable to ascertain the vessel or vessels to whom von Eckenhardt was signalling, and a number of small craft was despatched to search Yarmouth Roads and an area bounded by imaginary lines drawn through the Would, Smith's Knoll, Cross Sands, and Corton Lights.
By this time Aubyn had given up all idea of going home that night. Rather than disturb his parent by knocking at the door at an unearthly hour of the morning, he decided to crave the hospitality of the naval officers attached to the Yarmouth base.
"Hello, Aubyn, old chap! what brings you in these parts?" asked a tall, broad-shouldered man in the uniform of a sub-lieutenant of the Motor Boat Reserve.
Terence looked keenly at his questioner. He was mystified, and the officer keenly enjoyed his discomfiture.
"You have the advantage of me," said Aubyn.
"What. You don't remember Dick Waynsford? Come, come, that's base ingratitude."
"Well, old chap, if you will shave off that inelegant moustache of yours—congratulations, old man."
Dick Waynsford was a yachtsman who on the outbreak of the war had applied for and had been given a commission in the newly formed Motor Boat Reserve. His intimate knowledge of the intricate harbours and creeks of the Suffolk and Essex coasts, combined with a strong liking for the sea, made him fully qualified for the post.
In Yarmouth Harbour were a dozen or so weatherly motor-boats, whose duty it was to act as tenders for the fleet in the Roads, and to undertake patrolling work. At all hours and in almost every state of the weather these staunch little craft could be seen as they sped upon their various duties. Unthinking people regarded the Motor Boat Reserve as a soft job—an opportunity to wear His Majesty's uniform and at the same time to be out of any possibility of danger. They had yet to learn that the war was to be brought actually to the shores of Old England, which they had hitherto considered impregnable. Then the slighted "harbour patrol" boats would have their chance.
"Have a run out with us, Aubyn?" suggested Waynsford. "We've just had orders to look for a suspicious trawler—possibly the one to which your friend the spy was signalling. Since you have partly spoiled the game you may just as well see the end of it."
"Right-o," assented Terence. "Lead on."
Aubyn followed his friend to the quayside. Here, floating idly on the dark waters of the tidal river, were four motor-boats, each painted a dark grey and distinguished by a number on the bows, their outlines feebly discernible by the feeble light of a partly shaded light on the wharf.
"That's my packet—the 'Lonette,'" announced Waynsford, indicating the outermost of the tier. "Mind that ladder: it's horribly slippery."
"Fine little craft," declared Terence enthusiastically, as he stepped into the diminutive cockpit of the motor-boat.
"Yes, I'm lucky to get her. One of the swiftest of the whole crowd, and a ripping sea-boat. Cast off there!" he ordered, addressing the two deckhands, who with the engineer constituted the crew of the "Lonette."
Five minutes later the "Lonette" was gliding over the sullen undulations of the North Sea, shaping a course towards the N.E. Cockle buoy, marking the edge of a dangerous bank.
A cable's length astern followed the "Pixie," another armed motor-boat detailed to act in consort with the craft under Waynsford's command. Neither vessel showed navigation lights, their position being determined by the phosphorescent swirl as they cut through the water. Overhead the stars shone dully, for a slight haze was beginning to gather.
Suddenly a dark shape loomed up in the darkness—an object that resolved itself into a large unwieldy lighter attended by a small tug which was lashed alongside.
"Shifting the buoys," explained Waynsford laconically.
"Shifting?" inquired Terence. "Surely you mean removing them altogether."
"Not much," replied his companion. "We've had orders to shift the whole lot two miles to the east'ard. Should any of these rotten German cruisers dare to come out—I don't fancy they will, worse luck—the altered position of these buoys will puzzle them a bit: unless your friend Eckenhardt has already signalled the fact to an enemy vessel."
Five minutes later the two patrol vessels ran across a number of trawlers making their way to Yarmouth. These there was no need to stop and examine. Their bona-fides were above suspicion, especially as a long, lean destroyer was steaming slowly in their wake.
For the next two hours the "Lonette" and the "Pixie" cruised between the Newarp and the Cross Sands without sighting a suspicious craft. It was now nearly dawn.
"Sleepy?" inquired Waynsford, as Aubyn stifled a yawn. "Have a caulk in the cabin: you'll find the cushions fairly comfortable, and they were well aired this morning—yesterday morning, I mean."
"Thanks, I'll stick it," replied Terence. "It's been a fairly long day, but one must get used to it."
"Trawler, or some such craft on the starboard bow, sir," announced one of the "Lonette's" crew. "She's showing no lights."
Waynsford immediately altered helm; the skipper of the "Pixie", quickly followed suit, and the two motor-boats slowed down, one on each quarter of the trawler, whose nets were out.
"Trawler, ahoy. What ship is that?" shouted Waynsford.
"Dis de 'Vanhuit' of Scheveningen, Hollander trawler," replied a voice in broken English. "We goot way outside dree mile limit, mynheer."
"Stand by with a rope, then," rejoined the skipper of the "Lonette." "We want to have a look at you."
Somewhat reluctantly the Dutchman threw a coil of rope, the end of which the bowman of the "Lonette" deftly made fast to a bollard. The "Pixie" remained a boat's length or so off.
"May as well come, Aubyn," suggested Waynsford. "A little exercise won't do you any harm." The two subs, followed by one of the crew, swarmed up the tarry side of the trawler and gained the deck.
The strange craft was of about forty tons displacement, with a considerable amount of sheer and ample beam. Steam was escaping gently through the steam-pipe, while a faint wreath of smoke drifted from her squat funnel.
"Why no lights?" inquired Waynsford.
"Accident, mynheer ver' bad accident," replied the Dutchman apologetically. "See you here."
He led the way for'ard. On the fo'c'sle were two burly fishermen holding the remains of two lanterns.
"Forestay halliard him part," explained the master. "Lights, dey come down wit a run an' broke to pieces.
"Then the sooner you send another pair of lamps aloft the better," remarked Waynsford. "Now let's have a look round below."
The Dutch skipper led the way. Aubyn lingered on the fo'c'sle. His quick eye detected something that his comrade had overlooked. The lanterns had obviously pitched on the deck, but there were no signs of oil being spilled.
At the head of the little companion ladder Waynsford paused to see if Aubyn were following. The Dutchman had already disappeared.
"Where's Mr. Aubyn?" asked the skipper of the "Lonette," addressing his deck-hand.
"For'ard, sir," replied that worthy. "I can just make him out in the dark."
"Coming below, Aubyn?" asked Waynsford, raising his voice.
"Hold hard, I want to get something out of 'Lonette's' cabin," replied Terence.
Curiosity prompted Waynsford to delay his visit below. Going for'ard he met Aubyn, who was making his way aft.
"There's something queer about this craft," remarked Terence hurriedly. "I'm going to smuggle myself on board, if you don't find anything sufficiently suspicious to justify her detention. So if you don't see me when you come on deck again, don't wait, but push off, and come back for me in a couple of hours' time. If you can get in touch with a destroyer, so much the better."
"Right-o," assented Waynsford. He was perfectly willing to allow Terence to put his plan into execution, but at the same time, his suspicions aroused, he meant to do his level best to find sufficient evidence to place the Dutch trawler under arrest. Extreme caution was necessary, since he had been specially warned not to commit anything that could be construed by a neutral state into an unfriendly act.
Without another word Waynsford descended to the cabin. With rough courtesy the Dutch skipper produced his papers, at the same time offering the boarding-officer a glass of schnapps—an invitation that was firmly yet kindly declined.
"Your papers are quite in order," announced the sub. "Perhaps you have no objection to my looking round?"
"I no objec'," declared the Dutch skipper.
Although his suspicions were aroused Sub-Lieutenant Waynsford had no fear of treachery. One of his men had accompanied him below, while in the interval a deck-hand from the "Pixie" had scrambled up the side and was pacing the "Vanhuit's" planks. The engine-room, fo'c'sle, fish-holds, and storerooms were each in turn visited, but there was apparently nothing to give rise to any question that the vessel was anything but a harmless trawler.
At length Waynsford made his way on deck. The two fishermen on the fo'c'sle were still devoting their attention to the damaged lamps. Another was leaning over the low bulwark and engaging in conversation in a queer sort of English with the crew of the "Pixie."
"Thanks, mynheer," said Waynsford. "I'll wish you good-night. Sorry to have caused you any inconvenience.
"Der vas no drouble at all," rejoined the Dutchman. "Goot-night to you."
The sub descended the side and gained the cockpit of the "Lonette." The rope was cast off and the motor-boat slipped astern. Not one word did Waynsford say until the little craft was out of hearing distance, then—
"Where's Mr. Aubyn? he asked.
"Aboard yonder packet, sir," replied the member of the crew who had been left in charge of the motorboat. "He asked me to drop a few feet astern and then he slipped up over the Dutchman's quarter. Shall I give a hail, sir?"
"No," replied Waynsford. "Easy ahead."