The Submarine Hunters

"Coming," replied Ross. For the first time on board he omitted to add the word "sir". His omission was deliberate. Utter contempt for the German captain consumed him. Schwalbe, too, noticed the manner in which he had replied. He smiled grimly, imagining that now the lads thought themselves about to be free they could afford to be curt.

As the chums passed the lifebuoys, they deftly heaved them overboard. They fell with hardly a splash, dropping close to the side of the motionless submarine.

No one noticed the act. The attention of the crew was centred upon a little ceremony that was taking place. Bareheaded, the men stood at attention. Their voices broke into the song of "Die Wacht am Rhein" as the emblem of German sea-power was slowly lowered from the ensign staff.

The men sang sonorously and in perfect cadence. They firmly believed that it was their last tribute as free men to their Fatherland. As the last bar terminated, the petty officer smartly hoisted the white flag. For an instant it hung limply, confined by one of the halliards; then like a square of stretched canvas it blew out in the steady breeze—a modern counterpart of the kiss of Judas.

And standing just behind the Kapitan, within arm's reach of the ensign staff, were Ross Trefusis and Vernon Haye.

CHAPTER XII

The White Flag—and Afterwards

H.M.S. Tremendous, super-Dreadnought of 24,000 tons displacement, and mounting ten 13.5-inch guns as her principal armament, was tearing up-Channel at 21 knots.

She looked far different from the spick-and-span battleship which had left Portsmouth only six weeks previously.

Her armoured sides still showed unmistakable traces of the impact of Turkish shells. Her grey paint was blotched, blistered, and stained. Her after funnel had plates of sheet-iron riveted to it to hide a gaping hole large enough to drive a stage-coach through. Her guns were worn out by sheer hard work. It was mainly on this account that she was homeward bound: to have the gigantic weapons "re-lined" in order that she might again take her place as an effective unit of the Grand Fleet.

The middle watch was about to relieve the morning watch. The mess decks were a seething mass of humanity. In spite of the apparent confusion everyone was in high good humour, for another few hours (D.V.) would find H.M.S. Tremendous at Pompey—as Portsmouth has from time immemorial been termed by the Navy.

On the fire-control platform sleepy-eyed officers were awaiting their reliefs. Around the 12-pounders, the muzzles of which grinned menacingly from apparently haphazard positions in the superstructure, men were grouped, ready at the first alarm to train the weapons upon a possible foe. Day after day ceaseless vigilance was maintained. One and all realized that a moment's negligence might result in destruction by one of the most horrible creations of modern science.

"Submarine on the starboard bow, sir!"

For an instant all was tense silence. Then a bugle blared, followed by the clear trills of the bos'n's mates' pipes and the hurried tramp of men's feet.

The officer of the watch brought his telescope to bear ahead. He was a junior lieutenant, Bourne by name, and in receipt of a private income of eight hundred a year. On that sum he might have lived the life of a man of leisure, but he vastly preferred a strenuous life as a commissioned officer in the Royal Navy. Not once had he regretted his choice, and upon the outbreak of war he was ready to execute a hornpipe of sheer delight at the prospect of "being in the big scrap".

"She's flying the white flag, by Jove!" he ejaculated. "Funny, deucedly funny!"

He had to act, and act promptly, for a battleship travelling at 21 knots does not give a man time to think for any length of time. Already a messenger had been despatched to inform the "skipper", but before the captain could gain the navigation bridge (more than likely he was in his bath) the Tremendous would have covered the intervening distance.

The quartermaster looked enquiringly at the Lieutenant. Bourne stepped hastily to the engine-room telegraph indicator, half inclined to ring down for "half-speed", or even "stop both engines".

He stopped abruptly.

"Steady on your helm, quartermaster."

"Steady it is, sir," replied the petty officer.

The telegraph indicator remained untouched. With undiminished speed H.M.S. Tremendous held on, under the propelling force of turbine engines of 30,000 indicated horse-power.

A midshipman, standing by the side of the officer of the watch, had been keeping the submarine under observation by means of his telescope.

"By Jove, sir!" he exclaimed. "There's something wrong there. The white flag's down, and two fellows in mufti have leapt overboard."

"Torpedo on the port bow, sir!" sang out half a dozen lusty voices in chorus.

"Hard-a-port, quartermaster!" ordered Bourne.