CHAPTER XXXII
"Taken down a Peg"
The fishing-boat, according to the name painted on her stern, was the Stor Afan, of Carlscrona. The only member of her crew visible was a fair-haired youth of about fourteen, who was listlessly standing by the wheel. She was making a bare two knots under scandalized mainsail and jib. The rest of her canvas was stowed.
The youthful helmsman, happening to glance astern, caught sight of the approaching submarine. His lethargy vanished, and at his shout of alarm the rest of the crew came hurriedly on deck—a weather-beaten old man and a tall stripling of about twenty years of age.
With her pair of for'ard guns manned and trained, for even the most harmless-looking smack might prove to be a potential enemy, R19, taking care to avoid the line of nets, ran within hailing distance of the Swede.
"Stor Afan ahoy! I want you to take two men aboard you," hailed the Hon. Derek in German.
The skipper of the boat shouted something unintelligible in reply, and shook his head in a way that suggested helpless ignorance.
Stockdale repeated his request with a like result. The second hand, however, held up a basket of fish.
"Evidently a bribe," remarked Mr. Macquare. "They don't understand Hun lingo, sir."
"So much the better for us, then," rejoined the Hon. Derek. "It's a good thing we are not displaying our ensign; they'll take us for a strafed U-boat, and when they make harbour they'll report to that effect. It will help to throw the Huns off the scent."