The Submarine Hunters

"Stop!" exclaimed Vernon as Ross began to strike out towards the buoy. "There'll be trouble if we get mixed up in that oil. It's much lighter than water. I doubt whether we could swim in it. Do you think the Tremendous will put back?"

"Not likely," replied Trefusis.

He looked in the direction of the fast-vanishing battleship, half hoping that she would slow down and lower a boat. As he did so, something caught his eye: a cloud of grey smoke apparently issuing from the sea.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing in that direction.

"Torpedo, perhaps; one that has finished her run," suggested Vernon; but his chum waved aside the explanation.

"If U77 did fire a torpedo, you can bet your bottom dollar it wasn't one with a dummy head!" he said. "Only practice torpedoes send up a calcium light when their compressed air has given out. By Jove, I believe it's one of those patent buoys! Let's make for it."

The lads swam strongly, making powerful and comparatively slow breast-strokes. The water was warm. They were in no immediate danger of cramp.

As they skirted the patch of oil they noticed that the seaman holding on to the buoy had turned round. His face was now in their direction. The man was Hans Koppe.

"Are you all right, Hans?" shouted Ross.

"Yes, mein herr," replied the man. "I've found a buoy."

"Thanks to us," thought Trefusis; then raising his voice: "You had better kick out and get clear of the oil," he advised. "We are making for yonder buoy."

By the time the swimmers reached the Kisbie the emission of calcium smoke had ceased. They found that not only did the buoy support them both, but that it was so constructed as to allow them to maintain a sitting position without having to hold on with both hands. Glad of a seat they waited, watching the approach of Hans Koppe, and also looking for the undesired reappearance of U77.

"Ach! My wife and children!" exclaimed Hans Koppe disconsolately, as he brought his lifebuoy close alongside. "I shall never see them again."

"Cheer up, Hans!" replied Vernon. "At any moment U77 might come to the surface and take you on board. We don't mind, so long as they let us alone. We've had enough of your unterseebooten."

"U77?" gasped the German incredulously. "How do you know that?"

Briefly Haye related the story of the ill-fated Kapitan Schwalbe's treachery. As he proceeded Han's face bore a surprised expression that presently changed to one of fear.

"If we are picked up by an English ship," he remarked, "they will shoot me for abuse of the white flag. And I am innocent. Ach! my poor wife."

"They won't," replied Ross reassuringly. "We can swear that you knew nothing about it."

The minutes passed slowly. There was no sign of U77. Little did the three survivors know that she lay within a quarter of a mile of her consort, on the bed of the English Channel—to add to the ever-increasing roll of unterseebooten that were fated never to enter a German port again.

The sun rose higher and higher, its rays gathering strength as it did so. The heads of the three survivors were exposed to the solar heat; their bodies and limbs were numbed by prolonged immersion. The desire for conversation had long since passed. Almost exhausted they hung to their supports, listless and torpid. A few sea-gulls, struck with the silence of the three men, hovered overhead, and swooped with shrill cries to settle on the water within close distance of what appeared to be a possible meal. One bolder than the rest perched upon Trefusis' head.

Raising his arm, Ross dealt the bird a furious blow. It missed, but had the effect of scattering the gulls. Apathetically the lad watched them as they flew off. As he did so he caught sight of three vessels being driven at high speed.

"Hurrah!" he exclaimed feebly. "The destroyers, old man; we are saved!"

CHAPTER XIII

The Arm of the Law

"Hulloa! What the deuce have we got here?" enquired Commander Devereux of H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer Yealm, as three dripping figures were transferred from the destroyer's dinghy to the deck. "One strafed Hun, right enough; but who are these fellows in mufti?"

"Can't say, sir," replied the coxswain. "They sort o' collapsed directly we got 'em into the boat."

"Then take them below," continued Devereux. "I say, Fanshawe, there's a job for you at last, my festive sawbones."

Fanshawe, lately a young country practitioner with a scattered "panel" connection, had but recently entered the Navy as a surgical probationer R.N.V.R. He joined purely through patriotic motives, having sacrificed a fairly substantial income in order to do so. Up to the present his work had been almost a sinecure. The Yealm had not had the faintest chance of taking part in an engagement. Her crew—to use Fanshawe's own words—were "that beastly healthy, don't you know", that, out of sheer anxiety to do something, he was learning navigation from the Sub-lieutenant.