Was it merely a ruse de guerre to gain the advantage in the event of an attack, or was she a vessel disabled by the storm which had raged during the past forty-eight hours? Neither of these suppositions, however, satisfactorily explained the total disregard of signals and the warning shot which had been fired across her bows.
Again a line of flags were hoisted on the trawler's halyards, this time a well-known signal from the International Code, but still no notice was taken of the peremptory order it conveyed.
After the chase had been on for over an hour another shot was fired from the trawler. The report echoed across the still boisterous sea and the splash of the shell just cleared the ship's bow. Still there was no response, and the trawler's course was altered so that she would soon close in on her quarry. As the light increased it was seen that a stout wire hawser was trailing in the water from the starboard bow, and suspicion of some new evidence of sea kultur increased. When the range had closed to about 1000 yards she slowly swung round until almost broadside-on to the trawler, whose guns instantly opened fire in earnest. The third shell struck the large wheel-house of the mystery ship, demolishing it completely. When it became evident that the fire was not going to be returned, the guns of the trawler again ceased, and the two vessels drew close to each other. A partly defaced name, which was rendered indecipherable by the splash of the seas as they struck the counter, could be distinguished with the aid of binoculars in the quickening light of early morning, but neither officers nor crew could be seen, the bridge and decks appearing deserted.
Not to be misled by this ruse, however—for on similar occasions ships had been blown to pieces at close range by concealed batteries—the Curlew approached cautiously, bows-on, offering the smallest possible target, and with her guns trained on the quarry. This sea-stalking is nervy work and must be played slowly. Twice the trawler circled round the mysterious ship, and the sun had mounted high, penetrating the banks of cloud which scudded across the summer sky and tingeing the still boisterous sea with flecks of golden light, before it was considered safe to relax all precautions. Even then the sea prevented any attempt being made to board the curious craft, and for six hours the trawler clung to the heels of her quarry, which was rapidly drifting far out into the North Sea.
The danger of attack from hostile submarines was great, and the gunners stood by their weapons although drenched every few seconds by the floods of heavy spray which still poured over the bows. At last patience and endurance were rewarded. The sea calmed sufficiently to enable a boat to be lowered and with difficulty brought up under the lee of the mysterious ship.
An armed guard, headed by the sub-lieutenant, eagerly scrambled up the lofty rolling sides. They had scarcely reached the deck before their only means of retreat was cut off. The two men left in the life-boat were unable to keep her off the iron sides of the big ship. She rose like a cork on the crest of a wave until almost level with the top line of port-holes and then dropped back, catching the edges of the rolling-stocks. There was a crash of splintering wood and the next minute two half-drowned men were being hauled up the sides by their comrades on deck.
It was an anxious moment, for although the decks seemed deserted there was that curious, uncanny feeling which is ever present when facing an unknown peril. After all it might prove to be a ruse de guerre or some new form of frightfulness. There were only six men from the trawler—a small enough party, however well armed, if it came to a fight—and great caution was observed while exploring the ship. A signal had been arranged in the event of treachery, and the Curlew, with her guns and wireless, would prove a dangerous antagonist.
All was well, however, for the ship was deserted. A careful inspection of the cabins showed that the departure of officers and crew had been a hasty one, but all the ship's papers had been carefully removed. The forepeak or bow water-tight compartment was full of water, but the bulk-head had held and kept the vessel afloat. Beyond this no damage was visible above the water-line and the condition of both hull and engines was good. She proved to be a Spanish ship, and to make the mystery deeper her four life-boats were still on the davits, although swung outboard ready for lowering.
In those troublous days the fact of the life-boats being hoisted out in readiness for eventualities conveyed little or nothing, but when a careful search proved that many of the life-belts had gone with the crew the problem became an interesting one. Had they been taken on to the deck of a German submarine which had subsequently dived and left them to drown, as was the case with the crew of a British fishing vessel, or had they been conveyed as prisoners of war to Germany? Against both of these surmises was the fact that all the ship's boats remained, and a German submarine would scarcely be likely to come close alongside even a neutral ship, especially during the bad weather that had prevailed for the past few days. Would it remain one of the many mysteries of the great sea war?
Some few hours later the trawler, with her big "prize"—under her own steam—entered an eastern naval base and berthed her capture with the aid of tugs.