CHAPTER XI.
ALL IN A DAY'S WORK.
"Light on the port bow, sir," sung out a hoarse voice in the darkness.
Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn rubbed his eyes with the back of his lamb-skin glove. The action was necessary, for his face was encrusted with frozen spray—icicles that, driven with terrific force by the howling wind, cut so deeply into his weather-beaten skin as to draw blood. Then, grasping his telescope with his benumbed fingers he steadied the instrument on the edge of a "storm-dodger" and brought it to bear upon the object indicated.
Two months of monotonous patrol-work had passed since the day on which the "Strongbow" left Portsmouth Harbour. The rigours of a winter in the North Atlantic had severely tried the physical and mental capabilities of the officers and crew. As the days shortened and the nights correspondingly increased, and the periods of weak sunshine became more and more rare, the stress upon the ship's company grew. Buffeted by wintry gales, swept by icy seas, the "Strongbow" kept doggedly to her station. For a week at a time no strange sail would be sighted. The armed liner seemed to be an atom of isolation in the midst of a deserted foam-flecked ocean; yet hers was a particular duty to be done for King and Country.
Coming from a regular route that for the most part lay in tropical and sub-tropical seas the original officers of the ship felt the climatic change acutely. Most of them, who hourly faced death in the shape of unseen mines, quailed at the thought of having to use a razor, and grew beards of wondrous trim.
Aubyn was one of the exceptions, yet his appearance was such that he resembled, to use Raeburn's expression, "a cross between a teddy-bear and a golliwog." In addition to double underclothing he sported three thick sweaters, a heavy great-coat and an enormous woollen muffler. Over this perambulating bundle of clothing he wore a large yellow oilskin and sea-boots. His naval peaked cap had given place to a woollen "helmet" surmounted by a "sou'-wester" kept in place, against the frantic efforts of the wind to dislodge it, by a black and white plaid "comforter" tied tightly under his chin. And in spite of this load of garments the cold chilled him to the bone.
Terence's appearance in the matter of dress was in keeping with the rest of the officers and crew. Gifts of woollen comforts from the womenfolk of the Empire had been showered upon the Royal Navy, and in spite of the apparent redundancy of garments every article was utilized and appreciated. Commander Ramshaw had been heard to remark that when the men were given an order they had to almost undress before they could carry it out. He was not far out, for although the amount of clothing worn was not superfluous it certainly hampered the men's movements.
The "Strongbow's" task was an arduous, necessary, and momentous one. Like scores of her consorts the joy of battle was denied her. The possibility of any of her crew smelling powder was a very remote one. She was never likely to join in the chase of a fleeing enemy warship. Her men would never, according to present circumstances, witness the last plunge of a hostile cruiser, sent to the bottom by the guns of a man-of-war. Honour and glory were not to be hers when the story of the Great War comes to be written in letters of gold upon the pages of the world's history.
No, she was only a patrol-ship; doomed to cruise within certain limits and examine all strange merchant-craft that passed within sight of the alert lookout. Yet by so doing she was driving a nail into the coffin of the vaunted German Empire. She was helping to tighten the bands of economic pressure that were slowly but surely crippling the resources of the Mailed Fist.
It was not until Aubyn had removed the thick deposit of frozen spray, which, in spite of the protective shade had encrusted the object glass of the telescope, that he was able to distinguish the outlines of the strange vessel. She was a three-masted topsail schooner, close-reefed and on the starboard tack, showing her port light, which was burning brightly.
No vessel engaged in carrying contraband to Germany would be likely to show navigation lamps while attempting to steal through the cordon of British patrol-ships. The sub. knew that; yet it was his duty to report the presence of the stranger in order that the "Strongbow" could make a proper examination of her papers.
Upon receipt of the intelligence that the armed liner was heading for an unknown vessel, Captain Ripponden, aroused before he had "turned in" for less than an hour, hurried to the bridge. Orders were issued for the cutter's crew to stand by, while the "Strongbow" was manoeuvred to take up a position to windward of the schooner.
Promptly the stranger obeyed the order to heave-to. With her lean bow plunging into the angry seas like a chopper she lost way two cables' lengths from the British patrol-ship, a row of sou'-westered heads lined the lee-rail, as her crew watched the approach of "Strongbow's" boat.
Half an hour later the boarding officer returned.
"No luck, sir," he reported. "She's our old friend, the 'Sarmiento,' of Boston, U.S.A., bound for Bergen."
He was justified in calling the schooner an old friend. Three days previously the "Strongbow" had fallen in with and had boarded the self-same vessel. For three days the "Sarmiento" had tacked and tacked in the teeth of the strong nor'-easter, never gaining a mile, while the patrol-ship in keeping her to appointed limits had again fallen in with her.
"All in a night's work," remarked Captain Ripponden, as he prepared to return to his cabin. "Better luck next time. Mr. Bury, you brought the cutter alongside in excellent style."
The sub. who had gone to the schooner as boarding-officer saluted. The praise from his captain had amply recompensed him for the dangers he and his boat's crew had undergone in traversing the stretch of angry sea between the two vessels, only to find that he had departed upon a fruitless errand.
Philosophically he agreed with the skipper that it was all in a night's work, and made a hurried bolt below to shed his saturated garments, for in spite of oilskins and sea-boots he was drenched to the skin.
At eight bells noon on the following day another sail was reported, this time on the port quarter.
The "Strongbow's" helm was immediately put over and a course shaped to intercept the stranger.
"German, by all the powers!" ejaculated Commander Ramshaw. "She's got the confounded cheek to hoist her rascally colours."
The approaching vessel was a large steel barque. Her jibboomless "stump" bowsprit and the absence of chain-plates betokened her to be a modern craft and apparently a valuable prize.
The stranger made no attempt to alter course. A score or so of stolid, fair-haired Teutons were gathered on her short fo'c'sle, gazing with a faint degree of interest upon the grey-painted vessel approaching them, till a shot fired across the barque's bows, followed by a peremptory signal to heave-to roused them to unwonted activity.
Away aloft swarmed the astonished German seamen. Sail was quickly reduced, and curtseying to the short steep seas the barque was ready to receive her prize-masters.
Terence was in charge of the boat detailed to take possession of the barque. Armed with a revolver and accompanied by fifteen of the crew with rifles and bayonets, he took his place in the stern sheets of the boat. Deftly the patent disengaging gear of the falls was cast off, the men bent to their stout ash oars with a will, and five minutes later the boat was alongside the barque.
"Vot you vant?" demanded the skipper of the barque, which proved to be the "Freya" of Bremen. "Your vessel is a prize of his Britannic Majesty's Government," announced Terence.
"Prize?—I no onderstan'," expostulated the master vehemently. "Dis Zherman sheep. Zhermany not at war."
"I'm afraid you are greatly mistaken," said Aubyn, as he swung himself up the side by means of the rope ladder which the crew, unsuspecting the nature of the visit, although mystified by the display of arms, had meanwhile lowered. "Germany is at war with Great Britain, France, Russia, Japan, and Servia."
At the mention of each of these countries the skipper's eyes opened wider and wider.
"Mein Gott!" he exclaimed, and without another word turned on his heel and made for his cabin, only to be brought back by a peremptory order from the young sub.
From the ship's papers it was ascertained that the "Freya" had a most valuable cargo of nitrates and copper ore—a cargo that would be of immense service to the German army had the barque escaped the British patrol. She was a hundred and forty-three days out of Valparaiso, and during the whole of that time she had not spoken a single vessel; consequently her crew were in total ignorance of the European War. Gales and head winds had delayed her; water and provisions remained sufficient only for three more days. She had been blown so far out of her course that her master had decided to make a passage round Cape Wrath rather than beat up the English Channel, and when almost in sight of the North Sea she had been snapped by the "Strongbow."
Quickly the prize crew went about their work. The German seamen were ordered below; guards were posted at the hatchways and outside the officers' quarters. The red, white, and black ensign of the German Mercantile Marine was lowered and rehoisted under the British flag; canvas was stowed and preparations were made to take the "Freya" in tow.
After a considerable amount of skilful and dangerous manoeuvring a stout hempen hawser was passed from the prize to the "Strongbow," and wallowing heavily in the latter's wake the "Freya" was towed into Dingwall.
Almost the first thing that attracted Terence's attention on landing at Dingwall was a poster on which appeared the words "German Fleet attempts Bombardment of Yarmouth."
"Another rumour—I'm getting sick of them," ejaculated Aubyn; nevertheless, he bought a copy of the paper. He was wrong in his surmise. It was a fact, not a rumour. Several German heavy cruisers had suddenly appeared off the port in the grey dawn, and had opened a furious fire. Unaccountably, it seemed, all the projectiles fell short of their mark. A few, indeed, ploughed up the sand on the shore, but no damage was done. Everyone was asking, "Will the hostile cruisers get away safely?"
That same afternoon the news was received that the raiders had escaped. The chances were eagerly discussed on board the "Strongbow." It seemed incredible that, in spite of the cordon of British light cruisers and destroyers a dozen enemy ships should be able to retire unharmed after their brazen attempt.
"You fellows must remember we haven't official details," remarked Lieutenant Lymore. "Another thing: you know what the North Sea is like this time of the year, with the range of vision limited to perhaps a couple of miles."
"Think they'll try it on again?" asked Raeburn.
"No doubt. Encouraged by their being able to avoid getting into contact with our fleet they'll have another shot at it, but let's hope they'll burn their fingers."
Before the "Strongbow" left Dingwall, after coaling ship, a mail, mostly of belated letters, arrived. Amongst them was one for Aubyn from his chum Waynsford.
"I suppose you know all about our little excitement here at Yarmouth," he wrote. "We were rudely disturbed from our bunks by tremendous firing, and when we turned out we discovered shells dropping within five hundred yards of the shore. With the naked eye one could make out the enemy ships fairly distinctly, and with glasses quite plainly. The shells could be seen falling all around the little 'Halcyon,' and it was most marvellous how she escaped. Altering the position of those buoys the night you were here doubtless upset the German gunners' calculations.
"The Press report that none of the shells did damage is incorrect. Of course it may be advisable not to give the public full details, but in your case I think you ought to know."
"Almost the last shell fired struck your mater's house. Went right through the dining-room without exploding and buried itself five feet in the earth on the other side of the building. Lucky you made your parent clear out, wasn't it?
"I'm under orders to leave Yarmouth and report myself at Scarbro'. Goodness only knows what for, but 'orders is orders,' as Coastguardsman Smith is so fond of quoting. If ever you are within easy distance of Scarbro' and get short leave, look me up.
"Yours most sincerely,
"RICHARD WAYNSFORD."