The Mystery Ship: A Story of the 'Q' Ships During the Great War Read online

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  THE MYSTERY SHIP

  GLORIES OF SEAAND AIR SERIES

  _By__PERCY F.__WESTERMAN_

  THE MYSTERY SHIPTHE RIVAL SUBMARINESBILLY BARCROFT OF THE R.N.A.S.A WATCH-DOG OF THE NORTH SEA

  _Publishers_PARTRIDGELONDON

  "THE MYSTERY BOAT WAS MOVING SLOWLY, HER TRIPLETORPEDO-TUBES READY WITH THEIR DEADLY COMPLEMENTS."]

  THE MYSTERY SHIP

  A STORY OF THE "Q" SHIPSDURING THE GREAT WAR

  BYPERCY F. WESTERMAN_Author of__"The Fritzstrafers," "Billy Barcroft of the R.N.A.S."__"A Watchdog of the North Sea," "A Sub of__the R.N.R.," etc., etc._

  ILLUSTRATED BY A. MORROW

  PublishersPARTRIDGELondon

  _Made in Great Britain__First published 1920_

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I. THE TWO SUB-LIEUTENANTS II. ON PATROL III. SUNK IN ACTION IV. THE SPY V. THE PROWESS OF KAPITAN VON PREUGFELD VI. PICKED UP VII. A U-BOAT OF SORTS VIII. VON PREUSSEN'S BLANK DAY IX. HOW THE LIGHTERS FARED X. THE SALVAGE SYNDICATE XI. VON PREUGFELD'S RESOLVE XII. PRISONERS OF WAR XIII. A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE XIV. A DOUBLE DECOY XV. CONFIRMED SUSPICIONS XVI. COVERING HIS TRACKS XVII. MUTINY XVIII. A BIG PROPOSITION XlX. THE TABLES TURNED XX. THE END OF U 247 XXI. BLUFFED XXII. ON THE TRAIL XXIII. "PREPARE FOR IMMEDIATE ACTION" XXIV. IN THE HOUR OF HIS TRIUMPH XXV. TRAPPED XXVI. HER LAST BOLT XXVII. BATTERED BUT UNDAUNTED XXVIII. THE HOMECOMING XXIX. WHO FIRED THAT TORPEDO? XXX. A NIGHT OF COINCIDENCES XXXI. THE GREAT SURRENDER XXXII. A NAVY IMPOTENT XXXIII. THE RELIEF VESSEL XXXIV. THE SCUTTLING XXXV. WHAT THEY FOUGHT FOR

  THE MYSTERY SHIP

  CHAPTER I

  THE TWO SUB-LIEUTENANTS

  "BELOW there! You in, George?"

  George--otherwise Kenneth Meredith, sub-lieutenant R.N.V.R. andsecond-in-command of H.M. Motor Launch 1071--deliberately blottedfive lines of his weekly epistle to the fond ones at home.Unperturbed by a heavy fusillade upon the deck--the sound beingcaused by a broken golf club vigorously manipulated by an as yetinvisible person--Meredith dexterously threw into envelopes andblotting-pad into a conveniently placed rack, rammed the cork intothe glass ink-bottle, and thrust his fountain-pen, which either"founted" like a miniature Niagara or else obstinately refused to"fount" at all, into the breast pocket of his monkey-jacket.

  Interruptions are many and varied on board the M.L.'s. At almost anyhour of the day and night when the little craft were lying alongsidethe parent ship, casual visitors were apt to drop in, to say nothingof callers on more or less urgent Service matters. An officer issupposed to receive visitors with complete equanimity whether he bein the midst of shaving, dressing, having a meal, or even a bath.Privacy is practically non-existent. Almost the only exception iswhen the lawful occupant of the cabin is engaged in privatecorrespondence.

  Hence Meredith's hurried preliminaries before replying to the noisysummons on deck.

  "Come in," he shouted. "Visitors are requested to leave sticks andumbrellas in charge of the hall porter--Oh, dash it all! That's mytoe!" he ejaculated, as the steel-shod end of the golf club wasdropped through the hatchway and fell with a dull thud upon the Sub'sfoot.

  Seizing the lethal weapon, Meredith stood up and prepared to takesummary vengeance upon the lower portions of its owner, who wasdescending the vertical ladder leading to the diminutive ward-room ofM.L. 1071.

  Instinctively the newcomer must have realised that reprisals were inthe air, for, grasping the rim of the coaming, he dropped lightly tothe floor and faced the second-in-command.

  "Cheerio!" exclaimed the visitor. "Where's everybody? Where'sWakefield this fine evening?"

  Kenneth, without replying, opened the door leading into theafter-cabin and took a lengthy survey; he repeated the tactics in thegalley at the for'ard end of the ward-room. Then, going on his knees,he lifted the blue baize table-cloth and peered under the swingtable.

  "'Fraid he's not here, old man," he remarked. "Now I think of it, Ibelieve he went on the beach at seven bells. Have a cigarette?"

  "Thanks.... Wakefield wasn't on the links this afternoon.Strange--very. What's his little game, Meredith? Don't tell me hewent ashore in his Number Ones, with his trousers creased an' allthat sort of thing! 'A wedding has been arranged and asubscription-list will follow in due course,' eh?"

  Jock McIntosh lit his cigarette and took stock of the ward-room,looking for evidence to confirm his suspicions of the absentWakefield's mysterious visits "to the beach."

  Sub-lieutenant McIntosh and Sub-lieutenant Meredith were widelydifferent in appearance. The former was a tall, raw-boned Scot withfair features and close-cut sandy hair that even in its closenessevinced a tendency to curl. Never cut out for a seafaring life, hefound himself much against his will in the uniform of an R.N.V.R.officer, while his brother Angus, who simply loved the sea and waspart-owner of a yacht and knew how to handle almost every type ofsmall craft afloat, was given a commission in a line regiment.

  Jock would have made an ideal platoon commander: Angus would haveshone as a skipper of an M.L.; but since from time immemorial thepowers-that-be who run the Admiralty and War Office delight inputting square pegs in round holes, Jock McIntosh was manfullysticking to a job that was obviously uncongenial, while his brotherwas doing likewise; and each envied the other.

  Meredith, on the other hand, was literally "made for the job."Slightly above middle height, broad and square-shouldered,heavy-browed and with a firm and somewhat prominent jaw, Kennethlooked and was a sailor-man, every inch of him. At the age of twelvehe could handle a sailing dinghy with a skill that was the envy andadmiration of many so-called yachtsmen, who would be hopelessly atsea in a double sense without the assistance of their paid hands.Between the ages of twelve and fifteen he spent every availableholiday afloat in his father's ten-ton yacht, until he knewintimately the art of fore and aft sailing, and incidentally gainedfirst-hand information of practically every harbour and creek on thesouth coast of England.

  Then came the outbreak of the Great War. Promptly the _Ripple_, Mr.Meredith's cutter, was laid up, while her owner, exchanging ayachting suit for a khaki uniform, went to India as second-in-commandof a Territorial battalion.

  Kenneth went back to school, bitterly bewailing the fact that he hadnot been born three years earlier. Fellows from the senior form--inmany cases physically inferior to him--donned khaki and disappearedinto the mists of Flanders. At intervals some turned up at the oldschool, bronzed, aged and ballasted with a more than noddingacquaintance with life and death: others never returned--their namesfigured prominently in the School Roll of Honour as fingerposts tothe path of Higher Duty.

  At length Meredith's chance came. He had to admit that it wasinfluence that did the trick. A certain retired Admiral whose nameKenneth had never heard, but who knew Mr. Meredith years ago, workedthe oracle, and the lad found himself a full-fledged sub-lieutenantof the R.N.V.R. The only fly in the ointment was the fact thatMeredith had been appointed to a northern M.L. flotilla, where, instrange and remote waters, there appeared to be little chance ofseeing the "actual thing." He had hoped to be appointed to the DoverPatrol, where his intimate knowledge of the Channel would be adecided asset and where the prospects of smelling powder would bealmost certain to materialise.

  M.L. 1071, one of the fifteen motor launches belonging to theAuldhaig Patrol, was lying next but one alongside the parent ship_Hesperus_, an obsolete second-class cruiser. It was early in May.Already the northern evenings were drawing out and th
e nightsbecoming shorter and shorter. In the land-locked firth the loftyserrated hills were capped with fleecy mists that threatened with thegoing down of the sun to steal lower and lower and envelop the placidwater in a pall of baffling fog.

  "The main object of my visit this evening," remarked McIntoshponderously--he was rather prone to verbosity--"is to enlist yourassistance in the matter of this mashie."

  "I thought it was a patent lead-swinging device," interposed Meredithdrily--"a sort of means of getting me on the sick-list with apulverised instep."

  "Not at all, laddie," continued Jock, unruffled by the interruption."D'ye ken, I'm no hand at splicing, and I'm not giving myself away byasking any of my merry wreckers to take on the job. Perhaps you'll bekind enough to do it to-morrow."

  "When do you want this instrument of torture?" asked Meredith, as heexamined the fractured ends.

  "By three on Wednesday afternoon," replied McIntosh.

  Kenneth shook his head.

  "Can't be done, old son--that is, if you want me to tackle itto-morrow."

  "Why not?"

  "'Cause I'm on patrol to-night."

  A terrible reverberation as the engine-room staff gave a preliminaryrun with the powerful motors corroborated Meredith's statement.

  "But I'll do it now, if you like," he added. "You might ask Coles tobring along some seaming-twine and beeswax."

  "Don't envy you, old thing," remarked Jock, returning with therequired articles. "It's coming on thick. Personally, I'm jollyglad."

  "Why?"

  "The matter of those X-lighters," replied McIntosh. "We are handingthem over to the R.A.F., and we've been expecting some one from thatcrush down to inspect 'em. And we look like going on expecting. 'Tanyrate, the S.N.O.'s fed up with the lighters, so I've orders to take'em round to Donnikirk and dump 'em on the R.A.F. people. Hanged if Iwant the job! Plugging along with four-knot barges isn't in my line,so I hope it's foggy."

  Meredith nodded sympathetically, as his deft yet horny fingers waxedthe twine and began the intricate task of "whipping" the brokenpieces of the golf club. He little knew the part those unwieldyX-lighters would play in his subsequent experiences afloat.

  The X-lighters were almost flat-bottomed barges, about a hundred feetin length and with a beam of roughly twenty feet. Originally builtfor work in connection with the naval river flotillas in Mesopotamia,they had found their way to a northern base. Then as a result ofnegotiations between the Admiralty and the Air Ministry, the formerexpressed their intention of turning over the lighters to the RoyalAir Force for kite-balloon work.

  Anxious to get rid of the cumbersome craft, which occupied a largeamount of valuable mooring-space in Auldhaig Harbour, the SeniorNaval Officer had decided not to await the long-delayed visit of theAir Force representative, but to send the barges round to their newbase.

  "You're quite right, old man," observed Meredith, when, the task ofmending the golf club completed, he accompanied Jock McIntosh ondeck. "It's going to be a beast of a night. An' No. 1071's doing theOuter Patrol stunt this time."

  "Well, good luck!" exclaimed McIntosh.

  Kenneth smiled sourly.

  "Good luck!" he echoed bitterly. "Nothin' doin', I'm afraid. It's outnosing through the fog, seeing nothing and doing nothing. Haven't hadso much as a sniff at a strafed U-boat yet, and don't seem like doingso until the end of the war--whenever that comes off."

  "Sooner the better as far as I'm concerned," said McIntosh. "I'm fedup to the back teeth absolutely."

  "Think so?" asked Meredith quietly. "From a purely personal point ofview, we'll be jolly sorry when the war is over. Most of us will bewishing ourselves back in the M.L.'s before many weeks have passed."

  "I'll risk it," rejoined Jock. "Give me the piping times of peace anyold day--s'long as we win, which we're bound to do. Hello! here'sWakefield. Now the fun's about to commence. I'll hook it."

  And with a friendly gesture of greeting to the returning officercommanding H.M.M.L. 1071, McIntosh leapt over the rail, crossed thedeck of an intervening craft, and ascended the accommodation-ladderof the parent ship _Hesperus_.