Several of the Huns who understood English immediately offered their services, but Holcombe "turned them down." His anger was aroused and he meant to give the brutally callous ober-leutnant a practical lesson.
In desperation von Loringhoven descended the steel ladder in the interior of the conning tower, Holcombe following him closely. By the aid of an electric torch the sub realised that the ober-leutnant's description of the state of the prize was not exaggerated. Already the water was ankle-deep above the floor, surging sullenly with every sluggish motion of the slowly foundering U-boat. In a dozen places jets of water were squirting through the strained plates, the sound of splattering liquid echoing and re-echoing in the confined space.
With a master-key von Loringhoven unlocked the door of the prisoner's cramped quarters. If he had expected to see a terrified man he was mistaken, for the sturdy old skipper was at least outwardly unperturbed.
"Glad you've come, sir," he exclaimed as he caught sight of a British naval uniform. "I thought it was all U P with me this time, but there was one consolation: I wasn't going to Davy Jones with a crowd of dirty Huns for messmates."
"If you don't look sharp and get a move on you'll have one at all events," said Holcombe, indicating the still trembling ober-leutnant, who was casting anxious glances, first at his late prisoner and then at the steadily rising water.
Upon regaining the deck the sub ordered the whaler alongside. The master of the "Guiding Star" was assisted into the stern-sheets: he was too weak with the reaction following his release to trust to his own limbs. Then, one by one, the prisoners were ordered into the boat, while Holcombe, with the ensign of the prize under his arm, was the last to leave. He was only just in time, for the U-boat's deck was now awash. Before the whaler had rowed a hundred yards U 254 brought her career of black and ignominious piracy to a close by seeking a final resting-place on the bed of the Atlantic.
"It's fortunate for those fellows that you are on board the 'Antipas,'" was Lieutenant-Commander Tressidar's greeting to the master mariner. "My sub, Mr. Holcombe, had definite instructions on that point."
"Murderous swine!" growled the skipper of the torpedoed tramp. "I haven't a doubt that they deliberately killed my two boats' crews in cold blood, although I didn't see it myself."
"All but two," corrected Tressidar. "One of our destroyers found them clinging to the wreckage of a boat. The bow portion was cut clean away and floated bottom upward. The poor fellows had the sense to get underneath, and so balked the Huns. Yes, justice will be done, although, thank goodness, retribution is in worthier hands than mine."
There was no sloppy sentimentality in Ronald Tressidar's character. Knowing the U-boat's crew to be pirates and murderers he treated them with scant consideration. Von Loringhoven, Kuhlberg, and their men were ordered below and placed under lock and key, while the "Antipas," having hoisted in the whaler, started off to overtake the still manfully labouring "Tantalus."