CHAPTER XI
ONE ZEPPELIN THE LESS
Torpedo-boat No. 445 easily led the procession of small fry. Her speed, a bare twenty knots, was a good two miles an hour more than the rest of the torpedo-boats, while she could give points to the swiftest of the armed trawlers that lumbered in the wake of the rest of the flotilla.
Tressidar stood on a little platform abaft the low conning-tower. He had plenty to do, for the intricate directions as to the course could be adhered to only by a series of careful cross-bearings and observations. A line of hostile mines had been reported off the coast, and already a passage had been cleared by the sweepers. Therein lay a great risk, for although the channel had been reported clear, there was always the possibility of a mine escaping the means employed to rid the sea of these sinister objects, while cases have arisen of a derelict mine being found in a spot that had been reported free only an hour previously.
The officers and crew of No. 445 knew the danger and met it with equanimity. The lightly-built, single-skinned hull of the torpedo-boat would be literally pulverised should she bump against a mine. The concussion would undoubtedly send the frail craft to the bottom like a stone, and those of the crew who survived the explosion would be unable to withstand the piercing coldness of the water. With them, familiarity did not breed contempt; it was merely a matter of indifference. With unseen perils surrounding them, the iron-nerved men were as cool as if the little craft were on a trial run during the piping times of peace.
Ahead the double flash of Dunletter Head lighthouse winked knowingly. It was one of those beacons whose usefulness, nay indispensability, to friendly crafts more than outweighed the service it might render to hostile craft. The absence of those well-known flashes, even for a couple of hours, might result in half a dozen wrecks upon the dangerous Dunletter reefs that thrust their jagged and submerged fangs nearly half a mile seaward from the frowning promontory.
"Starboard your helm," ordered the sub.
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the quartermaster.
Almost on her heel the torpedo-boat swung round. It had reached the limit of a discovered mine-field, and was now free to stand seawards. She, like her consorts, showed no lights. Only a ruddy glare from the funnels of a badly stoked furnace betrayed the presence of one of the flotilla, now a couple of miles on the port quarter. For two tedious hours the boats searched the sea within ten miles of the position in which the Zeppelin was reported. Although searchlights were brought to bear upon the waves, nothing resulted. Apparently the airship had foundered.
Suddenly an idea flashed across Tressidar's mind.
"I'll try it," he thought, and gave an order for the engines to be stopped.
When No. 445 lost way he made tests to ascertain the true direction of the wind. Although it was almost calm when he left Auldhaig, the sub. made the discovery that there was a steady draught from the south-west. He also knew that for the last four hours the tide had been making northwards.
A water-borne Zeppelin, he argued, was to a greater extent under the influence of the wind, and to a lesser extent of that of the tide, although that depended largely upon the area of the submerged portion of the huge fabric. Allowing the airship to have been drifting for four hours, by this time she must be at least sixteen miles from the spot where she dropped, unless in the meanwhile she had sunk.
Accordingly TB 445 made off in a north-easterly direction, the sub. sweeping the sea with his night-glasses with the air of a man who subconsciously feels convinced that his efforts will meet with success.
Shortly after two in the morning a slight mist, accompanied by cold rain and sleet, rendered the searchers' task a most difficult one. Speed was reduced to fifteen knots, and the look-outs doubled, since the little craft was now in the waters frequented by the north-east of Scotland fishing-boats.
"Light on the port-bow, sir," reported one of the crew, as the feeble glimmer of a masthead and port lights loomed through the mirk.
Tressidar telegraphed for "easy ahead," then "stop," at the same time ordering the helm to be starboarded in order to approach the strange craft.
"They're making a deuce of a noise," he soliloquised, as the murmur of a babel of voices was wafted through the night.
Even as he looked the sub. discovered that the beams of the vessel's masthead light were playing upon an immense indistinct mass lying apparently a cable's length to windward. The mass was the envelope of the Zeppelin.
Ordering both searchlights to be unscreened and played upon the airship, Tressidar had the torpedo-boat manoeuvred so that the trawler,—for such she proved to be—bore slightly on the starboard quarter. At the same time the three 3-pounders were trained upon the Zeppelin.
"I wonder if the Huns have collared that craft," thought Tressidar. "It looks jolly fishy."
"Ahoy!" hailed one of the torpedo-boat's men. "What craft is that?"
"Drifter 'Laughing Lassie' of Peterhead," was the reply with an unmistakable Scottish accent.
"Then what are you doing here?" shouted the sub.
"The Zepp.'s right across our nets," announced the master of the drifter. "We aren't going to cut them adrift for a dozen strafed Zepps. They want us to take them aboard, but we just won't."
The fishing-craft was steaming slowly ahead, just sufficient to keep a slight strain upon her nets. The rear gondola of the Zeppelin, dipping beneath the surface, had fouled them, and at the same time the airship was prevented from drifting further to leeward.
Taking care to avoid the nets, for there was a danger of the torpedo-boat's propeller becoming entangled in the meshes of tarred line, Tressidar brought his command slightly to windward of the crippled German airship.
With the exception of the after part she was floating buoyantly, stern to wind. On the platform on the upper side of the envelope were about a dozen of her officers and crew. Others were standing on the light, railed-in gangway connecting the foremost cabin with the midship gondola. Shown up by the glare of the searchlights were several jagged holes in the envelope, caused by fragments of shells from the guns of the anti-aircraft service cars.
[Illustration: "WITH THE QUICK-FIRERS TRAINED UPON THE BULKY TARGET, NO. 445 APPROACHED WITHIN HAILING DISTANCE">[
"Think she'll fight, Bill?" the sub. heard a seaman enquire of his chum.
"Wish to heaven she would," replied the man. "We'd make it hot for them. But they won't, the brutes. They never do when they're cornered."
The speaker was in ordinary circumstances a steady, well-conducted seaman-gunner, who bore testimony to his humanity in the form of a silver medal from the Royal Humane Society for saving life under most hazardous conditions. Yet, without the slightest compunction, he would have sent a shell crashing into the inflammable gases of the Zepp.'s envelope. The mental vision of that ruined cottage with the slaughtered woman and her children had hardened his heart.
It was with almost similar sentiments that Tressidar hoped the Germans would put up a fight. With their superior armament they stood a chance of sending the little torpedo-boat to the bottom, or at any rate sweeping her decks with a murderous fire from her numerous machine guns.
She did neither. Instead, a man exhibited a large white flag, while the rest of the crew stood with folded arms, displaying a complete confidence in the willingness of the British seamen to save them from a lingering death in the wild North Sea.
With the quick-firers still trained upon the bulky target, No. 445 approached within hailing distance.
"Do you surrender?" shouted the sub. through a megaphone.
"Yes," was the reply, given by a tall, burly officer speaking good English. "We are disabled. We give ourselves up as prisoners."
"Very good," rejoined Tressidar. "You're in no immediate danger. Stand by to receive a hawser. We're going to tow you. But remember, any attempt to destroy or cause further injury to the airship will result in the death of every man jack of you. Do you quite understand?"
The German officers conferred amongst themselves. Then one of them gave an order to a member of the crew, who hurried to a hatchway amidships and disappeared from view.
"He's either gone to blow up the gas-bag or else he's been told to countermand a previous order to scuttle her," thought the sub. "Well, the business rests entirely in their hands. They'll have to realise that I won't be fooled with."
"We are ready to be taken in tow," shouted the German officer.
Ordering easy ahead, Tressidar brought his command almost alongside the steam drifter.
"You'll have to cut your nets, skipper," he said, addressing a short, thick-set man whose proportions were grotesquely exaggerated by a stiff oilskin worn over a thick great-coat. "I want you to take that Zepp. in tow and run her into Auldhaig. You will be compensated for the loss of your nets and in addition receive a large sum for salvage."
With the utmost alacrity the master of the drifter gave the necessary orders. The half-mile of nets was cut adrift, and the powerful engines manoeuvred until it was possible to heave a coil of rope into the foremost gondola of the crippled airship.
Meanwhile Tressidar had sent out a flashing message—No. 445 not being equipped with wireless—in the hope of the good news being picked up by the rest of the flotilla. Although there was no response, the sub. gave the signalmen instructions to flash code messages at intervals, in order to impress upon the crew of the Zeppelin that the torpedo-boat was not unsupported.
Slowly the trawler forged ahead, the partly water-logged airship wallowing awkwardly in tow. To guard against treachery—which, Tressidar knew, would be regarded as a smart action on the part of the Huns—No. 445 kept on the starboard quarter of the Zeppelin, ready at the first sign of a suspicious nature to place a shell into the interior of the highly inflammable envelope.
Mile after mile the trawler towed her bulky charge, her course through the mine-infested water being directed by signals from the torpedo-boat, whose searchlights were continually playing upon the prize.
Greatly to Tressidar's satisfaction, he observed that the airship showed no signs of sinking still more. Apparently the air-tight subdivisions enclosing the ballonets were sufficiently strong to resist the pressure of water. The submerged portion, too, acting as a drag in the sea, prevented the Zeppelin from yawing excessively, especially as the wind was now broad on the port beam.
The chances were that at last a practically undamaged and repairable Zeppelin would be brought into a British port.
A red hue in the eastern sky betokened the dawn of another day with the promise of bad weather. Gradually the beams of the searchlights began to pale before the increasing morning light.
Several miles to windward columns of smoke denoted the presence of the rest of the patrolling craft, which, having abandoned their midnight search, were returning to port.
It was now time for the trawler to alter her course eight points to starboard. She had passed the dangerous area, and could now run parallel with the coast until she reached the entrance to Auldhaig Firth.
Of the Zeppelin's crew not a man was visible. Apparently accepting the inevitable, they had taken shelter from the keen air and driving rain until they were ordered ashore by their captors, there to enjoy the comparatively luxurious life of prisoners of war.
Suddenly the whole fabric of the airship burst into sheets of lurid flame. Shafts of dazzling light shot skywards, mingled with flying debris. Almost immediately came the deafening crash of an explosion, followed by a blast of hot air that swept the torpedo-boat like a tornado.
For a few moments Tressidar was unable to grasp the situation. Where the Zeppelin had been was a dense cloud of smoke, that, caught by the wind, was drifted down upon the sub.'s command until the men were literally gasping for breath. Then upon her decks fell fragments of aluminium girders and wisps of burning fabric that, hurled upwards to an immense height, was beginning to fall in all directions.
The trawler, released from her tow, was forging rapidly ahead, the hawser trailing astern with a succession of jerks. Not until later was it ascertained that several of her crew had been hurled to the deck and seriously injured by the blast of the explosion, while the others were so dazed by the concussion that it was some time before the helm could be steadied and orders given to slow down.
"Rough luck!" muttered Tressidar. "Still, those fellows in that Zepp. had some pluck to blow her up with all on board."
But the sub. was wrong in his surmise. Nemesis, in the shape of a drifting German mine, had overtaken the air-raider of the night. In turning, the trawler had fortunately missed the latent weapon by a bare yard, while the airship, having to describe a wide circle, had brought the submerged gondola in contact with the sensitive horns of the mine with disastrous results.
"After all, there's some consolation," thought Tressidar as he went below to write out his report. "There's one Zeppelin the less."