CHAPTER XXXIV
THE SCUTTLING
"I say, old bean!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "Can you give me a good tip?"
"For what?" inquired Meredith cautiously.
"It's like this," explained the R.A.F. officer. "I've three days' leave. Why I've been granted it is a mystery, as one doesn't get much in the R.A.F. without asking for it. However, that is a digression. The bald facts of the case are I have three days' leave, which means that I have to report for duty on Monday. Now it's perfectly obvious that I can't get home and back in the time; I haven't the cheek to wire for an extension, so what can I do to spend the time?"
"You miserable blighter!" exclaimed Kenneth laughing, "Do you mean to tell me you didn't know we were running round to Aberdeen?"
"Guilty, m'lud," confessed Cumberleigh. "I may as well admit that I was fishing for an invite. More'n that, I've packed my kit-bag in anticipation of a sea-trip for the benefit of my health."
It was now summer. In the warm long-drawn days the Orkneys were at their best. Forgotten almost were those strenuous periods of patrol amidst the fierce winter gales and snowstorms—or at least time mellowed the reminiscences, partly obliterating the dark phases and keeping alive the pleasing episodes of the Long, Long Trick.
M.L. 1497 had been ordered to convey a small bulk of naval stores to Aberdeen—articles urgently required but not sufficient to warrant the use of a naval storeship. The run was a short one—a little over 100 miles. It would give the crew a few hours ashore to see the sights of The Granite City.
"Wakefield's not coming along, I suppose?" asked Cumberleigh.
"No; he's on Inner Patrol," replied Kenneth. "I'm short-handed, too; had to land my Sub yesterday. Got mumps or some other cheerful thing—no, don't look alarmed. It was my mistake. Toothache. I knew it was something with a swollen face about it. In a way it's a blessing in disguise. There's a bunk waiting for you."
Almost without incident, the run to Aberdeen was accomplished in record time. The motors ran without a hitch, and carrying a favourable tide most of the way M.L. 1497 averaged 19 knots "over the ground."
"Enough for to-day," remarked Meredith as the M.L. was safely berthed, and he was changing into shore-kit in the ward-room. "I'll give general leave till eleven to-night. One man will have to remain on board. Now, then, Cumberleigh, my dear old thing——"
"Gentleman to see you, sir," called out one of the men.
"Who the——" began Meredith wonderingly. He had no acquaintances in Aberdeen as far as he knew. But the next instant he gave an exclamation of pleasurable surprise as a well-known voice exclaimed:
"Eh, laddie, I thought 'twas you I saw coming in past the North Pier."
"Jock McIntosh, by the powers!" ejaculated Meredith. "Come on down. By Jove! This is great—absolutely."
It was Jock, but not the Jock of yore. McIntosh was rigged out in civilian clothes of distinctly post-war quality. He had lost the alertness that he had acquired, despite his heavy build, during his service afloat. He descended the steep ladder awkwardly, his heavy boots clattering and slipping on the brass treads of the steps.
"Eh, lad," he remarked, "but you were about right. I'm downright sorry I'm out of it. Life ashore is a bit dour, and when I saw you bringing the old packet into harbour I'd have given my last shilling to have been in sea-rig again."
"Cheer up," said Meredith. "We'll all be in the same boat before very long. Demobbing is going strong just at present. What are you doing in Aberdeen?"
"Buying a boat," replied Jock simply.
"What? Buying a boat?" exclaimed Kenneth. "What sort of boat? I thought you'd had enough of the sea."
"A good many of us thought that," said McIntosh soberly. "I was mistaken. It's the call of the sea, d'ye ken? So half a dozen of us, all out of the Motor-Boat crush, have pooled and bought a drifter. There's money in it... and we'll be afloat. You must come along, see the old boat, and be introduced to the lads."
"Glad to," replied Meredith. "So you're going fishing?"
Jock shook his head.
"No; coastal trade," he replied. "Running up along to Peterhead, Frazerburgh, Banff and perhaps Wick. The autumn we'll go south. Some of the fellows were in the Dover Patrol and at Scilly. There's freight always to be picked up."
"That chap's on a sound scheme," remarked Cumberleigh, when McIntosh had gone ashore.
"Yes; and he was always talking of what he was going to do on the beach when the War was over," said Kenneth. "There were dozens of M.L. fellows who ran yachts before the war. Now there's a chance—a good chance—to combine business with pleasure and go in for the coasting trade. It's worth thinking over."
Early next morning M.L. 1497 discharged her small but valuable consignment of Government stores, filled up with petrol, and awaited instructions. Somewhat to Meredith's disappointment, came telegraphic orders:—
"Proceed at once."
"It means a night trip," observed Meredith. "Fortunately it's calm and the nights are short. It will rather upset your leave, old man, to find yourself back at Scapa to-morrow."
"Anything wrong, I wonder?" asked Cumberleigh.
"Don't suppose so," replied Kenneth. "Merely a brain wave on the part of some shore-loafing minion in the S.N.O.'s office. However, 'a norder's a norder; an' it's a nard life,' as I once overheard a matloe remark."
Apparently M.L. 1497 was in no hurry to return to her base, for shortly after midnight her engines "konked." For some hours she wallowed in the swell a few miles from the shores of Caithness, while sweating mechanics struggled with sooted plugs and choked jets.
It was broad daylight before the trouble was overcome, and the M.L. was able to resume her interrupted return run.
"I wonder what von Preussen is doing," remarked Cumberleigh, as the rocky shores of the Orkneys appeared above the horizon. "Somehow I've got the idea that he was up to some mischief when we spotted him aboard the Hohenhoorn."
"Shouldn't be surprised," agreed Meredith. "I reported the incident, but nothing seems to have been done. Unfortunately our people are hampered by the Allied Congress; otherwise the Huns wouldn't be on board now—nearly six months after the Armistice."
A quarter of an hour later Kenneth raised his binoculars.
"Seems much the same old show," he observed. "Fritz is still occupying the best berths in Scapa Flow. Wonder why we were recalled so hurriedly? Hello! There's old Wakefield coming out to meet us."
M.L. 1499 approached rapidly, then turning sixteen points to port, drew within hailing distance.
"What's wrong?" shouted Meredith through a megaphone.
"Nothing, as far as I know," replied Wakefield. "Why are you back so soon?"
"Ask me another," rejoined Kenneth. "I was afraid we had orders to pack up."
"I've heard nothing more about demobilisation," said Wakefield. "So it's not that."
"Who said there was nothing wrong?" inquired Cumberleigh, pointing with outstretched arm towards the German vessels. "They've hoisted their ensigns."
"So they have, by Jove!" exclaimed Meredith. "What does it mean? Surely the Peace Conference blokes haven't restored the ships to Germany? Wakefield, look! Germans have hoisted their colours."
Somewhere in the grey distance came the report of a gun, followed by another. A British destroyer was taking drastic measures to deal with the flagrant breach of Beatty's peremptory order.
"Whack her up!" ordered Meredith through the voice-tube. "All out."
The motor mechanics responded smartly. M.L. 1497 simply tore through the water.
"They're sinking!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "Every one of them. The dirty dogs: they're scuttling the fleet!"
There was no doubt about it. Already seven destroyers were awash. The larger vessels were heeling with distinct rapidity. The giant Hindenburg was practically on her beam ends, while her meagre crew, prepared for the consequences of the dastardly act, had already taken to the boats and were watching the mammoth vessel in her death-throes.
Close by, the Seidlitz, Derfflinger and other Hun battle-cruisers were going down with flying colours, not gloriously in the heat of battle but ignominiously scuttled by their crews. Further on the Bayern, the most powerful battleship of the German navy, was capsizing. With a loud crash her heavy guns in superimposed turrets burst from their armoured bases. For a while the vessel's list was checked, until, under the action of the terrific inrush of water through her open sea-cocks, she lay completely over on her beam ends. Then, still heeling, her barnacle-covered bottom and bilge-keel showed above a smother of foam, like the back of an enormous whale. The next instant she had disappeared.
Already the crews of the M.L.'s 1497 and 1499 were at action stations. On his part Kenneth Meredith realised that he could do nothing to save the larger ships. There might be a chance of preventing the foundering of some of the Hun destroyers, and he meant to try.
Passing astern of the line of sinking battle-cruisers, Kenneth made straight for a large destroyer of the V-class that for some unknown reason was settling down slower than her consorts.
His course lay close to three or four boats manned by German officers and bluejackets, who viewed the rapidly-moving M.L.'s with considerable apprehension. Possibly they expected a few shells from the patrol boats' quick-firers. Up went their hands above their heads, and the now monotonous cry of "Kamerad!" rose from the craven crews.
Paying no heed to the boats, although the "wash" from the M.L. gave the finishing touch to the "wind up" stunt, Kenneth brought his command alongside the destroyer. Her crew were still on board, but were preparing to take to the boats.
With levelled revolver Kenneth climbed over the destroyer's rail and covered the unter-leutnant in charge.
"Have those sea-cocks closed instantly!" he ordered.
For a moment the Hun hesitated, but the stern face and set jaw of the Englishman gave him warning that delay meant trouble. He turned and gave a hurried order to some of the men. They hurried below, while to make sure that they would reclose the valves Kenneth ordered the hatches to be secured until the work was properly done.
Meanwhile two of the M.L.'s crew were at work for'ard, knocking out the Senhouse slip, and thus freeing the vessel from her mooring.
"All clear, sir!" shouted one of the hands.
Returning to the M.L., Meredith ordered "Easy ahead, starboard engine."
Still lashed alongside, No. 1497 had a stiff task to tow the partly flooded Hun, but gradually the two vessels gathered way. The nearest shoal water was a bare two cables' length away, and great was Meredith's delight when he heard the destroyer's forefoot grate on the hard bottom.
"She'll do: tide's falling," he observed. "Get those Huns out of it, Cumberleigh. Order them to embark in their own boat and row ashore. We may be in time to save another.... By Jove! I'll collar that ensign as a souvenir."
Although Cumberleigh boosted the Huns pretty severely, there was considerable delay before M.L. 1497 could cast off. It was evident that she had reached her limit in the salvage line. The Hun vessels were nearly all gone. A few had been beached through the prompt action of the British patrol and harbour service vessels. By the time Meredith gave the order for "Easy astern," the vast anchorage, crowded a brief half-hour previously, was now bare save for small craft and boats laden with Germans, who, now that their act of melodramatic bravado was accomplished, were wondering what the result of their gross breach of faith would entail.
There was flotsam everywhere. The water was covered with oil and wreckage, and the M.L.'s and other craft had to exercise great caution lest their propellers should foul the drifting planks and spars as they cruised round, shepherding the Huns to a place of safe custody.
"By Jove! Look!" exclaimed Kenneth, calling Cumberleigh's attention to a large circular mass of foliage.
"Looks like a wreath," observed the R.A.F. officer.
"Exactly," agreed Meredith. "There were dozens of them on board the Hohenhoorn. The blighters said they were for an officer's funeral—a ship's funeral, if you like. And there's another one."
There were, in fact, scores, each wreath entwined with red, white and black ribbons and bearing the name of the ship on which it had been placed when the act of scuttling was performed—a circumstance which tends to prove that the violation of the Armistice terms had been connived at by the existing German government.
"Who's that semaphoring?" asked Cumberleigh, indicating a steam pinnace about three hundred yards away, in the stern-sheets of which a bluejacket was waving a pair of hand-flags.
Kenneth levelled his glasses. Simultaneously one of the M.L.'s crew prepared to receive the message.
"It's Geordie Morpeth," exclaimed Meredith. "His old packet's broken down and he's getting his signalman to ask us for a tow."
"Will—you—come—alongside?" read out the receiving signalman. "They don't give a reason, sir," he added; "but it looks as if they've fouled some wreckage."
Very cautiously M.L. 1497 approached the apparently disabled steam pinnace.
"Ahoy, there!" shouted Kenneth. "What's wrong?"
Morpeth swung his arm in the direction astern.
"We've got some one in tow," he replied. "I knew Captain Cumberleigh was aboard you, and he might be interested."
Sitting on the engine-room casing were half a dozen Germans, including an unter-leutnant, all dripping wet and looking thoroughly dejected.
"Just lugged 'em out of the ditch," remarked Morpeth, stating what was an obvious fact. "But that's not what I hailed you for. Just look aft."
What had appeared to be at first sight a tangle of debris caught in the steam pinnace's propeller was one of the German funeral wreaths. In the centre was the body of a man, his feet secured to the stern-sheets by means of a running bowline.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "It's von Preussen."
"And as dead as a door-nail," added Morpeth. "I had an account to settle with him, too; but it's wiped out now. No; it wasn't my doings. One of their boats got swamped, so I went to the rescue. There was von Preussen hanging on to a life-buoy and looking as pleased as a dog with two tails—gloating over his share in the dirty work, I suppose. We weren't more than twenty yards off when there was an explosion—compressed air, you know. Up came a jagged plank and heaved von Preussen almost clear of the water. Killed him in half a shake. And then one of these wreaths came up and floated alongside of him just as we were slipping a bowline round his feet."
"Poor devil!" ejaculated Cumberleigh. "It's strange that he met his fate that way. Sort of Nemesis."
"Perhaps it was as well," added Meredith. "He would have been in a pretty hole had he got ashore."
"Rather," agreed Morpeth. "Every Fritz, officer and man, is being shoved under arrest. Old von Reuter, the Admiral, is collared too. There's one thing: the Allies can't squabble over the disposal of the Hun Fleet now; so Fritz has unwittingly done us a good turn. Well, cheerio. I'll run my little lot of Huns across to the beach. Cheerful-looking cargo, eh?"
Going dead slow, the steam pinnace headed towards the pier, the corpse of the spy towing astern; while M.L. 1497 "carried on," patrolling the land-locked waters upon which but a brief hour ago floated the fleet by which the German Emperor had hoped, and hoped in vain, to obtain the domination of the world.