"He would have dived before this if he intended so doing," replied Haye. "Ten to one he's going to pay us out for attempting to take French, or rather German, leave. It's jolly cold and mighty uncomfortable, but we'll keep a stiff upper lip and show him what we are made of."
"With all due deference to you, old chap," rejoined Trefusis, his teeth chattering as the keen wind played upon his saturated garments, "I would far rather be without this badge of German kultur." He indicated the chain that encircled his ankle. "I don't think that you can hold a brief for Kapitan Schwalbe. I am not so sure about it that he is not going to dive."
U75 dipped as he spoke, submerging her fore deck almost to the base of the conning-tower. Then, with a double cascade of water pouring from her, she shook herself free, throwing her bows high above the surface.
A man, gripping the stanchion-rail as he made his way knee-deep in water, came towards the two prisoners. It was Hans Koppe. He had obtained the Kapitan's permission to release his charges from their uncomfortable position.
"Hold on tightly as you go aft," he cautioned. "There is hot coffee waiting for you below."
It was impracticable to descend by means of the fore hatch. That means of communication had already been closed and battened down, owing to the constant flow of water over the bows. Even the after hatch, in spite of the protection afforded by the conning-tower and the raised coaming, was admitting water into the interior of the submarine.
Cold, exhausted, and hungry, the lads were glad to be able to eat and drink, discard their wringing-wet garments, and turn in. Without waking they slept solidly for ten hours. It was one in the afternoon when they turned out. U75 was rounding Land's End. She was submerged, steering a compass course, but frequently showing her periscope to ascertain her whereabouts. Already the Longships Lighthouse was broad on the port beam.
It was a tedious, discomforting run from Land's End to The Lizard. The Mounts Bay fishing fleets were out, a circumstance that compelled the submarine to keep below the surface. Kapitan Schwalbe knew that once the alert skippers of these boats sighted even the tip of the periscope, the news of the presence of a hostile submarine would be quickly sent to the naval authorities at Devonport. The necessity for secrecy also prevented him from making use of the wireless: not that the message would be deciphered, but because the origin of the message could be fixed with comparative certainty by any of the British wireless stations that "picked up" her call.
The approaches to Plymouth Sound, too, gave Kapitan Schwalbe a bad time. Far beyond the Eddystone, and from Looe Island to Bigbury Bay, armed trawlers and torpedo-boats patrolled incessantly, their movements aided by sea-planes. It was almost a matter of impossibility for a hostile submarine to approach Plymouth Sound by daylight, since the aeroplanes were able to discern any sinister object moving under the comparatively shallow and clear waters between Rame Head and Stoke Point; while at night the precautions taken were of such an elaborate and efficient description as to seal the fate of any submarine rash enough to run her head into a noose.
Accordingly U75 gave the Eddystone a wide berth, shaping a course to pass twenty miles to the south'ard of the far-famed lighthouse. Here she was in the thick of the Channel traffic, a stream of mercantile ships passing up and down as unconcernedly as if such a thing as a German submarine did not exist.