Slowing down until she carried bare steerage way, Q 171's bows passed within three yards of the life-buoy and the two men. A bowline, thrown with admirable judgment and precision, fell over the unter-leutnant's head, but von Loringhoven was too exhausted to slip his arms and shoulders through the looped line. Without hesitation, the bluejacket who had hurled the coil of rope thrust the tail end into the hands of a man standing next to him.
"Hold hard, mate!" he exclaimed, as he took a flying leap over the low stanchion rail.
Deftly the rescuer adjusted the bowline under von Loringhoven's shoulders, and with a stentorian "Heave away roundly!" he swung himself back to the Q-boat's fo'c'sle.
In another fifteen seconds two dripping and water-logged individuals joined the rescuer.
Kapitan von Preugfeld, gasping like a stranded carp, was speechless with exhaustion and astonishment. Up to that moment he had been deceived into believing that the vessel that had effected his rescue was a U-boat. He was still hazy on that point, but there was no shadow of doubt that the crew were British.
"Give the blighters a stiff glass of grog and shove them into hot blankets," ordered Morpeth. "I'll see them later and find out how they came to be in the ditch."
But von Preugfeld, recovering his speech, was anxious to explain matters at once. The thought paramount in his mind was that of revenge. It mattered not by what motive or through whose agency retribution was accomplished as long as the mutineers were accounted for.
"I kapitan am of unterseebooten 247," he announced in his broken English. "My crew haf mutiny make an' throw me into der zee. Der submarine is dere"—he pointed eastwards—"not von hour an' half gone."
"Peculiar bird," thought Morpeth, then—"Good enough, cap'n," he replied. "We'll be on her track. With luck she'll be scrap iron before night."
"No, no," protested von Preugfeld. "Do not to der bottom send. Make capture. I tink not dat she can sink."