"Prize?—I no onderstan'," expostulated the master vehemently. "Dis Zherman sheep. Zhermany not at war."
"I'm afraid you are greatly mistaken," said Aubyn, as he swung himself up the side by means of the rope ladder which the crew, unsuspecting the nature of the visit, although mystified by the display of arms, had meanwhile lowered. "Germany is at war with Great Britain, France, Russia, Japan, and Servia."
At the mention of each of these countries the skipper's eyes opened wider and wider.
"Mein Gott!" he exclaimed, and without another word turned on his heel and made for his cabin, only to be brought back by a peremptory order from the young sub.
From the ship's papers it was ascertained that the "Freya" had a most valuable cargo of nitrates and copper ore—a cargo that would be of immense service to the German army had the barque escaped the British patrol. She was a hundred and forty-three days out of Valparaiso, and during the whole of that time she had not spoken a single vessel; consequently her crew were in total ignorance of the European War. Gales and head winds had delayed her; water and provisions remained sufficient only for three more days. She had been blown so far out of her course that her master had decided to make a passage round Cape Wrath rather than beat up the English Channel, and when almost in sight of the North Sea she had been snapped by the "Strongbow."
Quickly the prize crew went about their work. The German seamen were ordered below; guards were posted at the hatchways and outside the officers' quarters. The red, white, and black ensign of the German Mercantile Marine was lowered and rehoisted under the British flag; canvas was stowed and preparations were made to take the "Freya" in tow.
After a considerable amount of skilful and dangerous manoeuvring a stout hempen hawser was passed from the prize to the "Strongbow," and wallowing heavily in the latter's wake the "Freya" was towed into Dingwall.
Almost the first thing that attracted Terence's attention on landing at Dingwall was a poster on which appeared the words "German Fleet attempts Bombardment of Yarmouth."
"Another rumour—I'm getting sick of them," ejaculated Aubyn; nevertheless, he bought a copy of the paper. He was wrong in his surmise. It was a fact, not a rumour. Several German heavy cruisers had suddenly appeared off the port in the grey dawn, and had opened a furious fire. Unaccountably, it seemed, all the projectiles fell short of their mark. A few, indeed, ploughed up the sand on the shore, but no damage was done. Everyone was asking, "Will the hostile cruisers get away safely?"
That same afternoon the news was received that the raiders had escaped. The chances were eagerly discussed on board the "Strongbow." It seemed incredible that, in spite of the cordon of British light cruisers and destroyers a dozen enemy ships should be able to retire unharmed after their brazen attempt.