There were, in fact, scores, each wreath entwined with red, white and black ribbons and bearing the name of the ship on which it had been placed when the act of scuttling was performed—a circumstance which tends to prove that the violation of the Armistice terms had been connived at by the existing German government.
"Who's that semaphoring?" asked Cumberleigh, indicating a steam pinnace about three hundred yards away, in the stern-sheets of which a bluejacket was waving a pair of hand-flags.
Kenneth levelled his glasses. Simultaneously one of the M.L.'s crew prepared to receive the message.
"It's Geordie Morpeth," exclaimed Meredith. "His old packet's broken down and he's getting his signalman to ask us for a tow."
"Will—you—come—alongside?" read out the receiving signalman. "They don't give a reason, sir," he added; "but it looks as if they've fouled some wreckage."
Very cautiously M.L. 1497 approached the apparently disabled steam pinnace.
"Ahoy, there!" shouted Kenneth. "What's wrong?"
Morpeth swung his arm in the direction astern.
"We've got some one in tow," he replied. "I knew Captain Cumberleigh was aboard you, and he might be interested."
Sitting on the engine-room casing were half a dozen Germans, including an unter-leutnant, all dripping wet and looking thoroughly dejected.