Chapter 19

That Friday Night

Three hours later H.M.S. _Capella_ received the following order by wireless:--

"Await relief by _Taurus_, then proceed to Rendezvous Y, Portsmouth Command. _Capella_ to be temporarily attached to Western Inner Patrol."

The meaning of the message was plain to all on board. The _Capella_ was to proceed to Rendezvous Y, which according to Admiralty instructions was off Yarmouth, Isle of Wight, where a flotilla of small craft was patrolling day and night, as a precautionary measure in the unlikely event of any hostile craft forcing the formidable defences of the western entrance to the Solent.

At eight on the following morning the _Taurus_ arrived on the station, and with the least possible delay the _Capella_ made for the west'ard.

Only one incident marked the run. A few miles from the Royal Sovereign Lightship, the _Capella_ sighted a number of submarines running on the surface. They were on Particular Service, and although opportunities for torpedoing a hostile surface craft were very remote, the submarines were constantly rendering yeoman service by keeping the approaches to the German North Sea ports under close observation. On rare occasions, when a German light-cruiser or destroyer did venture beyond the protection of the mine-fields and guns of the land-batteries, British submarines were not backward in seizing their chance of letting loose "tinfish" against their quarry.

Having arrived off Yarmouth, Captain Syllenger reported himself to the senior officer. He came back beaming. The _Capella_ was to take part in combined sea and land operations for the capture of the German agents, who were supplying petrol to one of the submarines, and also for the capture of the U-boat.

The eventful Friday evening came at last. The _Capella_, in company with four first-class torpedo-boats, was to be ready at a signal from Hurst to make a dash through the North Channel. A fleet of armed trawlers from the Poole base was to operate farther out to sea, in order to cut off the U-boat's retreat should she be lucky enough to escape the attentions of the _Capella_ and her consorts.

At ten o'clock the east-going tidal stream began to set through the Needles Channel. Half an hour later it ran with a velocity exceeding five knots. The _Capella_, moving at a rate equal to that of the tide, kept about half a mile from the Isle of Wight shore, with the white, occulting light of the Needles just visible to the north of Cliff End Fort.

It was a perfectly calm night, overcast, but with no wind. A dull rumble, rising and falling in volume, could be heard from the direction of the open sea.

"Breakers on the Shingles--a large bank on the starboard hand of the Needles Channel," explained Barry in answer to the midshipmen's enquiry.

"Then it means that bad weather is approaching," said Ross, who had had plenty of opportunities of observing the phenomenon of "ground swells" on the North Cornish coast. "If it's like this, the U-boat won't be able to make direct communication with the shore."

The appearance of Captain Syllenger on the bridge put an end to conversation. The officers, by the aid of telescopes and binoculars, kept the Hampshire shore under close observation.

To the naked eye nothing was visible but a dark bank of trees. Not a light was to be seen, although there were several houses in the vicinity. The position of Lymington, in time of peace discernible by reason of a strong blaze of light, could only be determined by the feeble glow of the high red light marking the course up the river.

"It's nearly midnight," observed the skipper. "If our friends the Germans are going to shift their supplies from here to Milford, they'll have to be pretty sharp. Seems to me like a case of 'nuthin' doing'."

Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when the silence was broken by a peremptory hail. The sound travelled clearly across the water, although the person shouting must have been a mile and a half away.

Then came the jumbled noise of men's voices, quickly followed by two rifle-shots. The voices then died away, and, as far as the listeners on the _Capella_ could hear, all was quiet.

"That's soon over, whatever it was, sir," remarked Barry.

"Hurst calling up, sir," announced a signalman, as a light blinked rapidly from the fort guarding the Hampshire side of the narrow channel. It was the order to proceed at full speed to the position previously decided upon.

Although the torpedo-boats were speedy craft, the _Capella_ left them behind "hands down". Fortunately there were no search-lights to baffle her quartermaster, for those of both Hurst and the batteries on the Isle of Wight shore had been previously switched off. Since the Needle Channel was closed to all mercantile shipping, the _Capella_ could, and did, without risk, extinguish her navigation lights. Only the phosphorescent spray from her sharp cutwater marked her position.

Suddenly she ported helm, just in time to avoid a collision with a long dark shape that proved to be an unterseeboot in the act of diving. Her commander had detected the pulsations of the _Capella_ motors, but he was too late.

Round spun the patrol vessel. From her quarter, a long length of something that resembled an exaggerated string of sausages was paid out. At the rate that the _Capella_ was circling, it was impossible for the U-boat to escape from her toils. Dive to a safe depth she could not, since the maximum depth was but 5 3/4 fathoms.

The last of the "sausages", to which was attached stout flexible wire, disappeared beneath the water. Then a jerk upon the wire announced the gratifying fact that the fugitive submarine had fouled the string of sausages, which was in reality a number of gun-cotton charges, primed and connected to a powerful battery by means of an insulated wire.

Sub-lieutenant Fox, who was standing by the firing-key, needed no orders. His fingers pressed the ebonite disc. A hundred yards astern of the _Capella_ a column of water was flying high in the air, followed by a tremendous roar. For one minute the vessel rocked violently in the agitated waters, then, circling, she made for the spot under which the explosion had occurred. With a splash a mark-buoy was dropped overboard to indicate the position of the shattered U-boat. By this time the torpedo-boats had arrived on the scene.

"A deuce of a commotion on shore, Barry," exclaimed the skipper.

"I should be surprised if there were not, sir," replied the Sub. "The racket was enough to smash every window within a couple of miles of the beach. They're signalling, sir."

"German submarine's boat rowing off. Intercept her," was the signal spelt out by the long and short flashes.

"More work," remarked Barry. "It's like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay. Shall I order the searchlight to be run, sir?"

"Very good," replied Captain Syllenger. "But before you do so you might signal to Hurst, and request that all available search-light be brought to bear in this direction."

Soon the hitherto pitch-dark sea was flooded in a blaze of light. Giant beams from the Isle of Wight shore joined with those of Hurst Castle to sweep slowly across the waves, supplementing the twin rays projected from the two search-lights on the _Capella's_ bridge.

It was indeed a brilliant spectacle. The _Capella_ and the torpedo-boats seemed outlined in silver. Along the shore as far as Hengistbury Head, the low line of cliffs was thrown into strong relief against the dark background of sky. The crest of every wave seemed as if made of delicate filigree work. Nothing afloat could hope to escape detection within the radius of action of the concentrated millions of candle-power search-lights.

Less than a mile away, and about the same distance from shore, a small black object bobbed buoyantly upon the waves. It was the ill-fated U-boat's canvas dinghy, apparently empty.

Down bore the _Capella_, her search-lights fixed upon the object of her search. The boat was not deserted. Lying at full length on the bottom boards were two men, who had adopted that position, in the vain hope of escaping detection.

As the patrol vessel approached, they sat up and raised dolorous cries of "Mercy, Englishmen!"

"Chuck it, Fritz!" shouted one of the British seamen. "You won't get hurt. You ain't in a strafed submarine now, you know."

"Silence!" ordered the skipper. "Stand by there. Get that boat aboard. See they don't sling anything overboard."

There was precious little that the German seamen could throw overboard, for when the canvas boat was placed on the Capellus deck it was found to contain only a pair of oars and two crutches. What the German sailors hoped to do had they escaped detection was a matter for conjecture, for without a compass, food, and water, and in a frail cockle-shell with every indication of bad weather approaching, certain death stared them in the face.

Finding themselves well treated, the Germans grew quite communicative. They freely admitted that they expected to obtain a considerable quantity of petrol from their agents ashore. They did not know their names, or if they did they professed complete ignorance on the point. Their craft, numbered for some vague reason U7, was built at Altona, and completed only a fortnight previously. In addition to her normal crew of twenty-eight officers and men, she carried five officers and ten men for instructional purposes. She was one of four that had come round Cape Wrath and the West and South coasts of Ireland, rather than risk the hazardous passage through the Straits of Dover, or the almost equally dangerous North Channel between Scotland and Ireland. Two of the five were missing; the other was supposed to be in the neighbourhood of Cape Ushant. U7's particular mission was to intercept transports that were known to be leaving Southampton for the French coast.

The men admitted that they had been tricked. A light had been flashed seaward, and although the signal was not strictly in accordance with the prearranged plan, it was sufficiently accurate to delude the U7's Lieutenant-Commander.

The German officer had shown considerable skill and audacity in closing with the shore so close to the numerous and powerful batteries. He dwelt upon the almost absolute certainty of the gunners devoting their attention solely to the Needles Channel, and since it was a little past the time of dead low water the intervening Shingles Bank, which in places rears itself 20 feet above the sea, would afford an efficient screen from the search-lights.

But he had reckoned without the patrol vessels. Barely had the U-boat's collapsible rowed a hundred yards from her parent when the _Capella_ raced up, and promptly put another hostile submarine to her credit.

Early next morning, the _Capella_ having returned to her station off Yarmouth to await orders, Vernon Haye went ashore in charge of the whaler in order to pick up mails and secure fresh provisions.

Arriving alongside the little stone quay, he left a boat-keeper in charge and proceeded towards the post office, while the coxswain and the rest of the men went in search of the much-desired commodities in the shape of fresh butter and milk.

Just as Vernon was about to enter the post office, he nearly collided with a very sleepy-looking subaltern in the uniform of the Royal Garrison Artillery.

"By Jove, Barraclough!" he exclaimed. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Barraclough was an Upper Sixth man at the same school as Haye, but had left four terms previously. On the outbreak of war he had applied for, and had obtained, a commission, and had been stationed, somewhat to his disappointment, at Hurst Castle. Beyond a few false alarms and a liberal experience in target practice, his existence at that isolated fortress bordered on the monotonous. He was simply on thorns to be able to proceed to the Front; the probability was that he would have to "do his bit" for his country at a spot within 20 miles of his home until the termination of the war.

"Bless my soul, Haye!" he rejoined. "Whoever would have thought to see you here, and in naval get-up. How long have you been in the Service, and what ship are you on?"

"Only a few weeks; and I'm on the _Capella_ with Trefusis."

"Trefusis, eh? Well, he's a lucky boy to have an Admiral for a father. And the _Capella_? Then you were in last night's affair? I heard they bagged the submarine."

"Rather!" declared Vernon proudly.

Barraclough stifled a prodigious yawn.

"Jolly glad to hear it. 'Scuse me, but I'm beastly tired. Had a night of it after those spies across yonder. Didn't turn in till three, and at six I had to cross from Hurst to Vic.--that's Fort Victoria, you know--on duty."

"Did you collar them?" asked the midshipman eagerly.

The subaltern yawned again.

"No," he drawled. "Worse luck, we didn't; but we had some fun. You know we were warned to watch Keyhaven marshes--and a dreary spot it is. Worse than the most dismal flats on the Essex coast, which is saying a lot. Well, before I tell you what happened, I ought to describe the place. It's a marsh, with patches of dry ground thickly covered with furze, that extends from Keyhaven to Lymington River--about four miles. It is separated from the sea--or rather mud-flats, covered at high tide--by a low bank on which is an apology for a footpath.

"Our orders were to post a squad at a certain point where the spies were supposed to have hidden a quantity of petrol. The place in question was close to a rifle-butt. Men were detailed to guard all roads leading to the marsh, and to allow all traffic, whether motor-cars, carts, or pedestrians, to pass unchallenged. The sentries were on no account to show themselves, except to hold up everything and everyone coming _from_ the marsh.

"Other men were told off to watch the three available roads between Keyhaven and Milford, where the submarine was expected to send ashore for her stores, so you see the U-boat didn't stand much chance of getting what she wanted. She copped something she didn't expect.

"As soon as it was dark, my squad left Hurst by motor-boat and landed near the toll-house at Keyhaven. It was almost dead low water, you know, or we might have been able to save ourselves a long tramp--you couldn't call it a march.

"We followed the wretched footpath, slipping on the slimy mud, and either tumbling over each other or else side-slipping into the morass, which was a jolly sight worse. To make a long story short, we took up our position, which was in the middle of a circular clump of furze within 50 yards of the butts, at ten o'clock.

"There we stuck for nearly two mortal hours, and not so much as a chance of having a cigarette. Of course the men were frightfully keen, and it took me all my time to stop them from chin-wagging. Some of them began to get jumpy, swearing they saw all manner of men and things.

"I had just looked at my watch--luminous face, thank goodness--when my sergeant whispered to me that someone was approaching. It was then close on twelve. He was right. There were three men ambling cautiously along the sea-wall. They were talking softly. Once one of them stopped, bent under the lee of a furze bush and lit a cigarette, which seemed a rummy thing for a spy to do unless it was a prearranged signal.

"We let them come on until they got within 20 yards, then up popped my sergeant.

"'Halt, who goes there?' he shouted, loud enough to be heard a couple of miles away.

"Bless me if the three fellows hadn't the cheek to answer in exactly the same words, although they didn't sound particularly cheerful over the job; and, instead of halting, one of them came on, holding a stick above his head. The others didn't seem very keen to follow him, but began jabbering away as hard as they could.

"So I gave orders for a couple of shots to be fired over their heads, just to let them know what to expect when they deliberately ignore a challenge. But instead of 'hands up' they bolted, with our men after them.

"Then I had good reason to bless that blessed marsh, for between us and the rifle-butt was a deep ditch filled with water, and a nice wire fence on the other side. Half a dozen of us, myself included, were floundering up to our waists; the others were lucky enough to avoid the ditch by making straight for the path. But we had the fellows all right."

"The spies?" asked Vernon.

Barraclough yawned, and then laughed mirthlessly.

"Nuthin' doing," he replied. "They were three members of a local defence corps engaged in patrolling the marshes. Goodness only knows what for, for they hadn't any weapon with them except walking-sticks. Perhaps 'twas as well, though, for they might have let rip in their excitement. When a man's nerves are all upset it's not safe for him to have his finger on the trigger of a rifle, you know."

"But the spies?" asked Vernon.

"Not a sign of 'em," replied the subaltern. "If they were anywhere about, they must have sheered off pretty quickly when they heard the racket. An hour later an orderly brought us word to return to the fort, so we guessed that something had taken place between a patrol-ship and the submarine. But I must be on the move. Regards to Trefusis. If you've a chance to get ashore on the other side, look me up."