"Send a boat, and lower your accommodation ladder," ordered Kapitan Schwalbe, who, as the submarine ranged up half a cable's length to leeward of the tank-vessel, had left the shelter of the conning-tower and was standing on the platform in its wake.
"Aye, aye," was the prompt response.
"Board her, Herr Rix," said the Leutnant's superior officer. "Bring back her papers with you. Order them to pump heavy oil both to windward and leeward. We will then be able to run close alongside and receive her hoses."
A boat containing two seamen and an apprentice was lowered from the tank's quarter and rowed to the submarine. Into it dropped Leutnant Rix and half a dozen armed men. With them they took two incendiary bombs fitted with time-fuses.
Rix smiled grimly as he gained the oil-steamer's deck. The captain and first mate were at the head of the accommodation ladder to receive him. Most of the crew were already mustering on deck, each with a bundle containing his private effects.
"You prize to German boat," announced the Leutnant. "Make you no trouble and we you will not harm. First we will haf much oil—petroleum, is it not? Order your engineer to get steam to donkey-engine, and your men—the—the—— Hein! Ach, I haf it—the hoses to get ready. When we fill up, then twenty minutes we give you to clear out. You onderstan'?"
"Perfectly," replied the British skipper, a tall, raw-boned Scot, as he eyed the podgy German Leutnant with grim contempt. "But d'ye ken yon?"
