CHAPTER XIX
THE TABLES TURNED
"What's for dinner at the mess to-night?" inquired Blenkinson. "Wonder if the management has got rid of our box for 'The Maid of the Mountains'? If not, will he try and make us pay up?"
"The theatre people can try," replied Cumberleigh grimly. "Hope they'll accept the excuse: unavoidable absence."
"Wonder how Pyecroft got on?" remarked Jefferson.
The three R.A.F. officers were cooped up in the otherwise empty storeroom of U 247. They were in utter darkness. The place was damp, ill ventilated, and reeked abominably. Moisture was constantly forming on the curved angle-iron deck beams and dripping promiscuously upon the captives.
"It is presumed that the genial captain of this vessel," continued Jefferson, "has not yet invested in a cinematograph. If he had it would be reasonable to suppose that he would have us on deck at regular intervals, supply us with cigarettes and cock-tails, and at the same time take a film to let neutrals know how benevolent and humane the Hun is when he is on the warpath. I am afraid my surmise is correct. Therefore we languish in captivity."
"Anyone any idea of the time?" inquired Cumberleigh. "My watch says half-past three, but I can't depend upon it."
"Mine shows ten o'clock," reported Blenkinson, consulting the luminous dial of his wristlet watch. "Unfortunately it omits to inform me whether it is AK Emma or PIP Emma, and I'm hanged if I know which it is."
"My watch went west the day before yesterday," said Jefferson. "The best Waterbury in existence is not proof against the back-fire of a six-cylinder car. Now if that fellow Fennelburt were here, he had a ripping little watch, I noticed."
"By the way, what happened to Fennelburt?" inquired Cumberleigh.
"Happened?" echoed Jefferson. "Why he's in the cart, same as us. Hard lines on the chap—taking him out on a joy trip and then landing him in this mess."
Cumberleigh grunted. He was not at all sure that he agreed with Jefferson's sentiments. Not that he had any suspicion that Fennelburt had conjured up the U-boat to take the Salvage Syndicate prisoners. The suggestion that the party should go fishing emanated from himself. Yet it was somewhat curious that Fennelburt should be separated from the others.
The three Auldhaig Air Station officers had had a sticky time during the last twenty-four hours. During that period they had been twice supplied with scanty and unappetising meals; they had dozed fitfully in the foetid atmosphere of their cell, but up to the present they had not been allowed on deck to get a breath of fresh air.
"Hope old Pyecroft pulled it off all right," remarked Blenkinson. He had harped on the matter at least a dozen times. Pyecroft had been his special pal. They had flown over the German lines together; they had crashed in the same 'bus; they had spent six weeks in the same hospital—in all, quite sufficient to cement a casual acquaintance into a lifelong friendship.
"There's the chance, anyway," said Jefferson. "He may not have been missed, and—hello what's the game now? They've stopped the motors."
The three men listened intently. The faintest alteration in the rhythmic purr of the U-boat's engines set their nerves on edge. They knew something of the fearfully ingenious devices used to strafe Hun submarines, and now they were metaphorically at the business end of a big gun, whereas formerly they had been behind it. It was a disconcerting affair, exposed to unseen perils that might without warning send them to their death in company with a crowd of Huns. And, unless Pyecroft had succeeded in getting safely ashore, the manner of their going would remain a secret for all time.
For several long-drawn seconds the trio listened in silence. They knew by the difference in the pulsations of the motors that the U-boat had been running on the surface. The diving-tanks had not been filled, otherwise they would have heard the gurgling inrush of water. For some reason the submarine had brought up and was drifting with wind and tide.
A quarter of an hour elapsed, then the petrol-motors were restarted. Very soon after the door of their cell was unlocked and a couple of Hun seamen appeared.
"Come you on deck!" one exclaimed, with such a broad smile that Cumberleigh and Co. suspected a dirty trick on the part of Fritz.
"Anything to get a breather," ejaculated Blenkinson. "Lead on, old bird!"
In single file the three British officers followed their guide along the intricate alley-way and on deck via the conning-tower hatchway.
A hurried glance gave no clue to the unexpected change of environment. The U-boat was forging ahead. By noting the position of the sun the captive officers knew that the course was approximately east, and that direction led towards Germany. The skyline was unbroken. Neither the proximity of land nor the presence of another craft was evident to account for the change of attitude on the part of their captors.
"We friends is," continued the Hun who had previously addressed them; and as evidence of good faith he handed the Englishmen a box of cigarettes.
The dearth of tobacco, cigars and cigarettes that had been noticeable amongst the ratings during von Preugfeld's regime was now, temporarily at least, a thing of the past. The former ober-leutnant's cabin had been systematically ransacked, with the result that a goodly store of tobacco had been discovered and distributed.
"What has gone wrong?" inquired Captain Cumberleigh, speaking slowly in order to make himself understood. "Where are your officers?"
The seaman paused before replying. In order to ingratiate himself he would not have hesitated to confess that the Prussian tyrants had been thrown overboard; but in the event of the submarine making Hamburg safely or else being overhauled by a vessel flying the Black Cross Ensign, the knowledge that the Englishmen knew the secret might prove decidedly awkward.
"They overboard fell, Herr Offizier," replied the German. "They stand so, making what the Englisch sailors call 'shooting der sun.' A big wave come an' pouf!—dey are gone."
Cumberleigh nodded. For the present he deemed it prudent to accept the statement, although he was aware by the comparatively easy motion that the U-boat had not encountered heavy weather. Nor had the German sailor given any explanation why the collapsible canvas boat had not been lowered to effect a rescue.
"And where is Captain Fennelburt?" he asked. "There were four of us taken prisoners."
A blank look overspread the Teuton's heavy features. He extended his palms in a manner that expressed complete disinterestedness.
Cumberleigh pressed the point. The Hun turned and consulted his comrades. Apparently they had not taken this factor into their calculations.
"I want no lies," continued Cumberleigh, who was rapidly finding his feet. "What has become of the fourth officer (he was about to prefix the word British, but somehow he checked himself) who was taken on board?"
"Kapitan von Preugfeld him sent on land last night, Herr Offizier," announced the man.
"For what reason?"
"I do not know der plans of Kapitan von Preugfeld," explained the German. "An' he not is here to ask."
This was simple, but none the less truthful logic. It was hardly conceivable that the ober-leutnant should explain his actions to a lower-deck rating.
"It's jolly rummy, any old way," remarked Blenkinson. "The whole business is fishy—decidedly fishy. And I reckon that big wave yarn won't go down."
Again the German strolled up, smiling and apparently unperturbed.
"You know der mine-fields, Herr Offizier?" he asked. "You can take us to Zhermany?"
"All I know," replied Cumberleigh pointedly, "is that there are mines—thousands of them—and that you're going straight for them. I might add that I know the course to Auldhaig. It's a jolly sight safer than barging along as you're doing."
The German apparently saw the wisdom of the suggestion. He retired to consult his companions. On a Soviet-controlled ship everyone has to have a say—with conflicting and other disastrous results.
Kaspar Krauss and Hans Furst vehemently opposed the suggestion, which, considering the fact that they were the ringleaders in the mutiny, was somewhat remarkable. The desire to get home overruled their fears of running against a mine. Others, fearful lest the curse be brought home to them, clamoured to be taken into a British port, bringing forward the argument that German prisoners of war in England were well treated and that no difference was made in the case of men who had served in U-boats.
How long the drolly-conducted debate would have lasted remains a matter for speculation, but it was brought to an abrupt and still undecided conclusion by one of the men raising a shout and pointing astern.
A vessel of some description was approaching rapidly. The enormous "bone in her teeth" as her sharp bows cleft the waves into frothy clouds of foam showed that she was moving at a terrific rate.
"An English ship!" exclaimed the fellow excitedly. "A U-boat hunter! Quick, run up the white flag, or we'll be blown to bits!"
All was scurry bordering on panic. There was a hasty rush to find the emblem of surrender. Hans Furst, gripping the interpreter by the shoulders, shouted to him to ask the English officers to go aft and stand in a conspicuous place.
Cumberleigh and his companions fell in with the request with the greatest good humour. They had no desire to become objectives for the approaching vessel's quick-firers. They realised that deliverance from a hideous captivity was at hand.
Suddenly Kaspar Krauss, who was standing just abaft the conning-tower, shouted to his fellow mutineer-in-chief.
"It's one of our U-boats after all," he exclaimed. "Now we shall have to be most careful."
"Surely not," questioned Furst, snatching up a pair of binoculars.
Then, after a brief scrutiny, he added, "You're right, Kaspar. There's a number—U 231—painted on her conning-tower. Kick those Englishmen below. They will be of no further use to us. Dietrich, untoggle that white flag and hoist our ensign again. Make our private signal, too. For heaven's sake look sharp about it!"
Calling to two or three of his comrades, Kaspar Krauss began to make his way aft, with the intention of putting into execution the congenial task of kicking the Englishmen below.
Before he had taken a couple of steps, the flash of a gun brought him up all standing. Dumfounded, he stared at the oncoming vessel. Even the terrific splash of the ricochetting shot, barely fifty yards away, failed to detract his attention, for the approaching craft had hoisted her colours—no Black Cross Ensign, but the White Ensign of a navy that has a glorious tradition covering over a thousand years.
The seaman Dietrich paused in the act of hoisting the U-boat's ensign. Frantically Furst shouted to him to run up the white flag after all.
"Be quick!" yelled half a dozen voices. "Be quick before she fires again!"
It was an excellent example of the lack of discipline. When the men were ruled, although by an iron hand, they did their work smartly and well. In secret they grumbled, but the fact remained they carried out the orders of their commanding officers with automaton-like precision. Deprived by their own act of a real leader, they had deteriorated within the space of a few hours into a panic-stricken mob.
The Black Cross Ensign—the hoisting of which might have drawn a devastating fire upon the mutineers—was untoggled and rolled into a ball with indecorous haste, and a rectangular piece of white cloth was hoisted to the mast-head. Even Hans Furst heaved a sigh of relief. Captivity awaited him, but, after all, it was preferable to being "bowled out" by the German naval authorities and ignominiously shot as a mutineer.
Then as Q 171—to outward appearances she was U 231—lost way a cable's length astern of her prize and trained her formidable armament upon the mutineers, the Huns lined up on deck with hands upraised, shouting their craven shibboleth of "Kamerad."
Blenkinson smiled.
"Good as a play, eh, what?" he remarked.
"I agree," remarked Cumberleigh. "After all, I'm glad I missed 'The Maid of the Mountains.'"