CHAPTER III
A Loss and a Find
LATE in the afternoon, the wind falling light, Norderney lightshipwas passed. Curiously enough, with the breeze dropping the fogdispersed, and Hamerton was able to set a course for the Elbelight-vessel.
"Here's a tramp bearing down upon us," he announced, after intentlywatching the oncoming craft through his binoculars. "We'll signalher." Again the flags that the German warship had all but ignoredwere hoisted, and before long the crew of the _Diomeda_ saw thesteamship alter helm and head so as to pass within a cable's lengthof the yacht.
She flew no ensign, neither did she reply by signal to Hamerton'srequest to communicate.
"I'll semaphore her," announced the Sub, producing two red-and-yellowhand flags from a locker. For nearly two minutes he vainly attemptedto enter into conversation.
"The bounders don't understand," he growled. "She's not a Britishvessel, I'll bet my bottom dollar on it. We'll hoist the ensign, andhail them through the speaking trumpet."
Out fluttered the red ensign. Still there was no reply that gave aclue to the tramp's nationality. But she was now within hailingdistance.
"Vat you vant?" shouted a voice from the tramp's bridge.
"We've rescued a German seaman from a destroyer. Can you give him apassage?"
"Vat you say? Me no onderstan'," came the exasperating reply.
"She's either a Dutchman or a German," said Detroit. "The name on herbows conveys nothing. Why not hail them in German?"
"Couldn't trust myself to make a public confession of my inability,"replied Hamerton, with a laugh. "But, by Jove, although we're doingall this for Pfeil, I quite forgot him. He can do the chin-waggingpart of the business."
In answer to a shout from the Sub, Hans Pfeil, who had been asleep inthe fo'c'sle cot, came on deck. His clothes were still wet, since theair was too moist for drying purposes, and a comical figure he cut,wrapped up in a blanket, with his oilskin coat flung round hisshoulders.
The sailor hailed, and an animated conversation took place betweenhim and the skipper of the tramp.
"Heave her to," ordered Hamerton, seeing that the German tramp'spropeller was going astern, and that the vessel was losing way."They're going to lower a boat."
The two craft were now less than a cable's length apart and hardlymoving through the water, but Hamerton would not risk running the_Diomeda_ alongside the wallowing hull of the tramp. He waited for aboat to be sent.
Meantime Pfeil went below to assemble his saturated garments. Then,clad only in his oilskin, and with the bundle of clothing under hisarm, he took leave of his rescuers, again thanking them for savinghis life.
This done, he entered the waiting boat, and was taken to the tramp.Without further delay the steamship gathered way, hoisting anddipping her ensign, to which the _Diomeda_ replied, while from thetaffrail could be discerned the oilskin-clad figure of the Germansailor, still waving adieux to the men who had saved him from awatery grave.
"Haul down that ensign, old man," said the Sub when the tramp wasalmost out of sight. "It's too pretty to be flapping itself againstthe mizen halyards, now that a breeze is springing up."
Detroit, with his usual energy, sprang out of the cockpit and loweredthe bunting, rolled it in a professional manner and jammed it betweenhis knees, while he secured the halyard to a cleat. While thusengaged one end of the halyard slipped from between his fingers, andstreamed to leeward. Hurriedly grasping the mizen shroud with onehand, he leant outboard to recover the errant cord. As he did so thesudden movement dislodged the ensign, and in an instant it wasoverboard.
"I'm right-down sorry, Hamerton," he exclaimed ruefully.
"Can't be helped," was the reply. "Accidents will happen, you know.We can get another for a matter of five or six marks at the firstchandler's shop we come to ashore. But I rather fancied myselfdropping anchor off the custom house at Cuxhaven with the red ensignat the masthead to signify that we had sailed a little eight-tonnerfrom England."
"I'm an awkward mule," ejaculated Detroit. "Hope you are notsuperstitious; losing an ensign looks like a bad omen."
"Thanks, I'm not in the least superstitious," was the reply. "Afterall, it's of little consequence. But it's high time I went below andfilled and trimmed the lamps."
The _Diomeda's_ lamp-room was a small cupboard in the fo'c'sle. Toget to it Hamerton had to remove the topsail that had reposed on thefo'c'sle floor since the previous night. As he did so he noticed abook lying under one of the folds of the canvas.
It was a small, blue-covered volume, saturated with salt water. Aglance at the title told him the nature of the work. It was atreatise on the Schwartz-Kopff twenty-five-inch torpedo, a highlyconfidential work of which the British Admiralty had failed to obtaina copy in spite of the most strenuous efforts on the part of theNaval Intelligence Department.
"By Jove, this is a find!" ejaculated the Sub gleefully. "It musthave fallen out of Pfeil's jumper when we slipped off his wetclothing. But I must stow it away very carefully, for there'll beconsiderable trouble if the German custom-house authorities chance tolay their hands on it when they start rummaging in search ofcontraband. Let me think, now; where's the best place?"
It was certainly curious that, though the Sub had often mislaidarticles on board, and only after a laborious search had he been ableto find them (for below decks the yacht was a labyrinth of lockersand odd corners), now, because he wanted to conceal a small book, hewas at a loss to find a suitable hiding place.
"Capital idea!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh, and at the sametime giving his head a tremendous blow against an obtrusive deckbeam. "I'll stow it in the false bottom of the stove. It will stand agood chance to dry, and at the same time ought to be quite safe fromdetection."
As soon as the "manual" was hidden, Hamerton proceeded with his taskof getting the lamps ready for their night's work.
"It's piping up," announced Detroit, as a vicious puff struck theyacht's sails, causing her to heel till her lee planks were awash.
"Yes, the glass is falling rapidly," said the Sub. "We're in for adirty night."
"Going to cut and run for it?" asked the American.
"No, not with a dangerous lee shore. If I knew the coast it would bea different matter. We'll heave to on the port tack as soon as itgets dark. Meanwhile we'll stow the mizen and change the jibs. Easycanvas is best for a job of this sort."
With the rising wind came the rain, hissing upon cabin top andobliterating everything beyond a few yards. Snugly clad in oilskins,the two men remained on deck, for although the helm was lashed andthe yacht hardly making half a mile an hour to windward, neithercared to go below and turn in.
Hour after hour passed without any attempt at conversation.Occasionally Detroit would make some remark about the state of theweather, to which Hamerton would reply with a grunt that could betaken as expressing assent or otherwise.
Fortunately the rain served a good purpose. It kept down the sea, sothat, instead of vicious, crested waves breaking inboard, there waslittle more than a long, sullen roll.
"Lights ahead!" announced Detroit, as a faint luminosity becamevisible in the rain-charged darkness.
"Yes, searchlights. They always look like that in rainy weather.We're apparently in the thick of the German naval manoeuvres. It maybe Heligoland. They say the place bristles with powerfulsearchlights."
"Heligoland, eh? I'd just like to have a look at that place,"exclaimed the American. "Many years ago my father spent a holidaythere. That was when it was a British possession, used principally asa bathing resort for German visitors. He lived in Germany for sometime when he was about my age."
"I'm afraid you won't be able to gratify your wish, old man," saidthe Sub. "It's forbidden ground now. In 1913 it was stronglyfortified, and shortly after that the island was given over solely tomilitary and naval purposes. The civil population had to clear out.It's a sort of second Kronstadt. Our Intelligence Department woulddearly like to know a great deal more about it than they do
atpresent."
"Don't you think the British Government was a bit of a fool to givethe place away?"
"No, certainly not. We did jolly well out of the deal. Had a vasttract of territory in Africa in exchange for a little lump ofsandstone that looked very much like falling into the sea."
"That's the average Britisher's notion--that is, if he thinks aboutit at all. The German view is very different. As colonists theTeutons do not shine, except, curiously enough, when under anyGovernment but their own. Very well. They give you a slice of virginterritory. You develop it, and it increases in value a thousandfoldin a couple of decades. When 'The Day' comes, should Great Britain beoverwhelmed by the Triple Alliance, Germany takes back her formerterritory--and a lot besides--all ready for her much-wanted place inthe sun."
"You're a jolly old croaker, Detroit," exclaimed the Sub. "I'll betmy last halfpenny that the British navy will be top dog for a goodmany years to come. I don't fancy that you and I will see the Teutonswalking through London with fixed bayonets, and the Kaiser dictatingterms of peace in Buckingham Palace. Hallo! The searchlights are out.Evolutions finished for the night. What's the time, I wonder?"
Thrusting back the sliding hatch, Hamerton looked at the clock on thefore bulkhead of the cabin. It was just 2 a.m.
As he reclosed the hatch his foot slipped on the wet grating, and hisrubber-soled boot came in contact with a hard substance close towhere the yacht binnacle stood.
"Good job I didn't sit on the compass, by Jove!" ejaculated the Sub."But what's this? What idiot placed it there?"
For the object he had kicked was a large belaying pin thatunaccountably had been propped up against the binnacle.
"I'll swear I didn't," declared Detroit.
"The mischief is done, at all events," continued Hamerton. "Theattraction of that lump of iron has affected the compass. We may bepoints out of our course. Just watch."
Bringing the belaying pin back to its former position, Hamertoncarefully observed its effect upon the sensitive needle of the liquidcompass.
"Twelve degrees out, at least," exclaimed Detroit.
"And goodness only knows how long it has been like that. Perhapsbefore the yacht was hove-to perhaps even when we passed NorderneyGat."
"Well, we've a good offing, so there's little harm done. The wind isfalling some, and if only this tarnation rain would quit----"
"What's that?" interrupted Hamerton, holding up his hand.
"Nothing, I guess," replied Detroit, after a few moments. "What'sthe matter with your nerves?"
"There's nothing the matter with my nerves," asserted the Sub withasperity. "Feel my pulse. But I could swear I heard a fellow callingout, 'Who goes there?' in German."
Detroit chuckled.
"Guess I'll have to take your word for it," he said. "I'll git. It'stime I made some coffee."
The Sub watched his companion descend into the cosy cabin and stripoff his glistening oilskins. Then, to avoid the glare, he closed thesliding hatch, and peered steadfastly into the mirky night.
The rain was coming down with torrential violence. The wind had diedutterly away, and the saturated sails were slatting violently fromside to side with the motion of the craft.
Beyond the patter of the heavy raindrops, no sound came from theblack vault that encompassed the _Diomeda_ on every side.
"If only I could pick up a light!" he muttered; then, mainly with theidea of doing something, he picked up the coiled lead-line.
"Five fathoms, by Jupiter!" he exclaimed; then, seized by aninspiration, he dived into the cabin and bent over the chart.According to the course the minimum depth ought to be thirteen.
"We've muddled the whole show, Oswald," he announced. "We're insidethe five-fathom line, and that means we are only a few miles fromshore. I'll put her due west, and see what comes of that. There'senough wind now to give her steerage way."
"Couldn't do better," replied Detroit laconically, "unless it's tohave some coffee and a few rusks. I'll be slick about it."
Hamerton returned to his rain-exposed post, put the little craft'shead in the desired position, and waited. Five minutes later he madeanother sounding. This time it was four and a half fathoms.
"I'll carry on," he resolved. "It may be a slight irregularity in theground, although the general tendency is for it to deepen."
Four fathoms--three and a half.
"Say, ready for your coffee?" asked Detroit, holding a cup in hisextended hand through the partially open hatchway.
"Far from it," replied the Sub. "Come on deck and give a hand to puther about. The water's shoaling rapidly."
"How's her head?"
"Nor'-nor'-west. I'll keep her at due south for a bit until we finddeeper water."
Slowly the _Diomeda_ came into the wind and paid off on the othertack. As she did so Hamerton noticed that, in spite of the heavyrain, the seas were steeper, and showed a decided tendency to break.
"Guess that's surf," said the American, as the dull rumble of aheavy ground swell was heard above the hiss of the rain. "Dead ahead,too."
Hamerton heard it also. The _Diomeda_ was making straight towards asandbank. Unhesitatingly he put the helm hard up. He would not riskgoing about; he chose the lesser danger of gybing all standing.
With a thud the boom swung over, and the stanch little craft drewaway from the hidden danger. Her course was now nor'-west.
"Still shallow," announced the Sub. "It's less than four fathoms, butthe water seems calmer."
"Light ahead!" shouted Detroit. "Showing red and white. We're righton the dividing line between the two sectors."
"I see it now," replied Hamerton, as he altered his helm to bring the_Diomeda_ more into the arc of the white light. "Hanged if I knowwhat or where it is, but, by Jove, there's a crowd of lights beyond!"
Through the rain a multitude of yellowish lamps blinked after themanner of a street, except that, instead of two rows, there were fouror five. The water, too, was almost calm, ruffled by a faint breezethat contrasted vividly with the strong wind but a few hundred yardsastern.
The Sub's ready wit grasped the situation. Unknowingly the yacht hadentered an anchorage, for the lights represented the anchor lamps ofa number of vessels.
"This is good enough for us," he exclaimed. "We'll bring up here tilldaylight. I shouldn't wonder if we're off the mouth of the Jade orthe Weser. Stand by and let go, old man. I'll bring her up into thewind."
Two minutes later the rattling of the chain cable announced the factthat Detroit had let go the anchor. The saturated sails were quicklylowered and stowed, the navigation lights removed, and an anchor lamphung from the fore stay.
A final look round satisfied Hamerton that he had done all that washumanly possible. The _Diomeda_ was riding snugly in a safe butunknown anchorage.
"Watch below, all hands!" he exclaimed cheerily. "We'll sleep likelogs. To-morrow, my dear Detroit, we'll wake up and find ourselvesclose to a picturesque little German village, and you can go ashoreand buy fresh milk and new rolls. Think of that, and dream on it, oldman."
Detroit merely nodded. He was already half-asleep. Before the Sub wasready to turn in, his companion was breathing heavily. Five minuteslater the crew of the _Diomeda_ were fast asleep, heedless of theperil that overshadowed them.
The Sea-girt Fortress: A Story of Heligoland Page 3
