IN THE HANDS OF THE HUNS
NIGEL FARRAR'S state of mind was far from being composed when he found himself under lock and key in the interior of the submerged U-boat. Apart from the physical pain and exhaustion, and the unaccustomed air in the confined space making his head throb with redoubled violence, his nerves were greatly overstrung. That was doubtless accentuated by his wound, but he tried to pull himself together like a true British sailor.
There was the disconcerting thought, too, that the U-boat stood a great chance of being strafed by the British destroyer, patrol-boats, and aircraft; and with a full knowledge of the terribly efficient means at submarine hunters' command the prospect was far from alluring. It was one thing, he reflected grimly, to chase a Fritz and blow him out of existence with depth charges; another to be most unwillingly in his company when the deed was done.
More than once the selfish wish flashed across his mind that he had taken the gun-layer's advice and fought it out. Better to die fighting than to perish miserably like a rat in a trap.... But it was for the best, after all... his men—comrades all—were still free, although their position a hazardous one.
Tormented by doubts and fears the sub spent a bad two hours, nor was the ordeal over when the door of his prison was thrown open and an electric torch flashed full in his face.
Dazzled by the sudden transition from pitch-black darkness to the blinding glare, Farrar stood bolt upright and stared with unseeing eyes at the Hun behind the light. His spell of mental depression had passed, and although his head was racked with pain, he faced his captor with a calm resolution that surprised himself.
He was under the mistaken impression that von Loringhoven confronted him, although on second thoughts he reflected that the Hun would hardly go to the inconvenience of interviewing the prisoner in such uncomfortable conditions. Nor could he satisfactorily account for any desire on his part for the Hun to see him, yet he could not banish the impression that it was von Loringhoven and none other.
Except for a brief interval when the kapitan-leutnant of the lost U 254 had been marched under escort from the "Antipas" to temporary quarters in Trecurnow, Farrar had never to his knowledge set eyes on him until a few hours previously, but von Loringhoven and the sub were alike in one respect—they had good memories for faces.
"Dis way; come quick!" exclaimed the German with the torch. The sub recognised the voice as that of the unter-leutnant.
In his still saturated, scorched, and badly torn uniform, and with a blood-stained bandage round his head, Nigel presented a forlorn appearance when he was unceremoniously ushered into the presence of von Loringhoven and the kapitan-leutnant of the U-boat in a fairly spacious cabin immediately below the elongated conning tower.