"It's one of our U-boats after all," he exclaimed. "Now we shall have to be most careful."
"Surely not," questioned Furst, snatching up a pair of binoculars.
Then, after a brief scrutiny, he added, "You're right, Kaspar. There's a number—U 231—painted on her conning-tower. Kick those Englishmen below. They will be of no further use to us. Dietrich, untoggle that white flag and hoist our ensign again. Make our private signal, too. For heaven's sake look sharp about it!"
Calling to two or three of his comrades, Kaspar Krauss began to make his way aft, with the intention of putting into execution the congenial task of kicking the Englishmen below.
Before he had taken a couple of steps, the flash of a gun brought him up all standing. Dumfounded, he stared at the oncoming vessel. Even the terrific splash of the ricochetting shot, barely fifty yards away, failed to detract his attention, for the approaching craft had hoisted her colours—no Black Cross Ensign, but the White Ensign of a navy that has a glorious tradition covering over a thousand years.
The seaman Dietrich paused in the act of hoisting the U-boat's ensign. Frantically Furst shouted to him to run up the white flag after all.
"Be quick!" yelled half a dozen voices. "Be quick before she fires again!"
It was an excellent example of the lack of discipline. When the men were ruled, although by an iron hand, they did their work smartly and well. In secret they grumbled, but the fact remained they carried out the orders of their commanding officers with automaton-like precision. Deprived by their own act of a real leader, they had deteriorated within the space of a few hours into a panic-stricken mob.
The Black Cross Ensign—the hoisting of which might have drawn a devastating fire upon the mutineers—was untoggled and rolled into a ball with indecorous haste, and a rectangular piece of white cloth was hoisted to the mast-head. Even Hans Furst heaved a sigh of relief. Captivity awaited him, but, after all, it was preferable to being "bowled out" by the German naval authorities and ignominiously shot as a mutineer.
Then as Q 171—to outward appearances she was U 231—lost way a cable's length astern of her prize and trained her formidable armament upon the mutineers, the Huns lined up on deck with hands upraised, shouting their craven shibboleth of "Kamerad."