Meanwhile the decks and engine-room were 'cleared for action.' Mathiesen, who knew a little Danish and was rather Scandinavian-looking, took the wheel on the bridge, in order, if need be, to exchange rôles with the officer of the watch. A mate's uniform hung for this purpose in the chart-house.
One of the stokers had the pleasing task of sitting, with the greatest attainable abandon, on the fore-hatch, lazily smoking his pipe and teasing the dog till it barked furiously. The rest of the crew, with the exception of the engineers and stokers on duty, had to disappear quickly and quietly from the deck, crawl into their bunks, and pretend to be asleep.
The whole thing was admirably successful. Any one observing from a distance the picture of peaceful innocence presented by our dingy-looking tramp could not possibly have seen anything to arouse suspicion. Special signals—either passed quietly from mouth to mouth or communicated by voice-pipe and engine-room telegraph—were arranged in case, with a prize crew already on board, it might become necessary to sink the ship. The word Tyske, Norwegian for 'German,' meant 'Stand by with the naval ensign, uniforms, and arms!' The further commands, to carry on, and to make the attack, were varied according to circumstances. The Norwegian phrase meaning 'Pedersen is to come to the captain,' signified: 'Stand by to blow up the ship! Fuse ready!' The order, 'Stop!' given three times in succession with the engine-room telegraph, meant, 'Fire the mine!' This drill we practised, if possible, daily.
We had now, with frequent alterations of course, made our way along the Danish coast as far as Falsterbö, where there was an extensive mine and ship barrier. The place was swarming with war vessels of every kind. An outpost-boat gave us our course through the barrier.
CHAPTER VII A DRESS REHEARSAL
'Destroyer coming up astern,' some one on the boat-deck shouted up to the bridge. A moment later we heard the familiar rush of a destroyer's bow-wave, and the ringing of her telegraph as she checked. What the devil do they want?'
'Where are you from, captain,' comes a voice from below us.
A sub-lieutenant is standing, megaphone in hand, on the bridge of the pitching craft, whose funnels are only just on a level with our upper deck. Close as she is to us, all the officers of the watch are scanning us curiously through their glasses, while the men standing about the deck stare at us open-eyed. As it is just as well that we should not be recognised, I give my men a sign to go below, and myself, take my stand at the rail, shaking my head, to convey to the sub-lieutenant that the German language is not one of my accomplishments.