Home Again
It was fifteen miles to the nor'ard of the Skaw in broad daylight. R19 was running awash in a perfectly calm sea. Sub-Lieutenant Fordyce, keeping a tramp under observation, turned to the Quartermaster.
"Starboard a couple of points, Quartermaster," he ordered. "I want to have a closer look at that ship. Dash it all," he soliloquized, "the old tub seems strangely familiar!"
Evidently the vessel in question did not evince any desire to accept the submarine's advances, for she, too, altered helm.
"What is it?" enquired the Lieutenant-Commander, who at that moment emerged from the conning-tower.
"A tramp under Swedish colours, sir," reported the Sub. "Strange thing, she has a gun mounted for'ard. Unless I'm much mistaken we've met her before to-day."
An order from the Lieutenant-Commander brought the guns' crews on deck. The for'ard quick-firers were raised from their "houses" and manned, while, increasing speed, R19 was soon within hailing distance.
"What ship is that?" enquired the Hon. Derek in English.
"Ryan-Berg, of Malmo," was the reply. "You our colour painted on side see."
"I'm not blind—only sceptical," retorted the Lieutenant-Commander. "Heave-to; I'll send a boat."