Another order was given. Those of the crew who still remained below hurriedly collected their personal belongings and went on deck, while their place was taken by their companions who, following their example, set to work to "pack up" their scanty bundles. In five minutes the crew space was untenanted save by Fuller and Kirkwood.
"It strikes me very forcibly that we had better be clearing out of this rat-hole," suggested the former, "If we don't we'll be overlooked, and I don't suppose the Huns will mind that."
The two chums ascended the ladder and gained the platform in front of the conning-tower. Here were about a dozen of the crew, a similar number being stationed aft. The officers were grouped amidships, their attention fixed upon some distant object which they were examining through their glasses. The chug-chug of the pumps continued, showing that some of the engine-room staff were still standing by the auxiliary machinery.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "A couple of our destroyers. No German prison for us this trip."
Several of the German seamen hearing the exclamation regarded the A.P. angrily; otherwise they offered no objection to the prisoners being on deck. The kapitan-leutnant, also overhearing Bobby's expression of satisfaction, lowered his binoculars and glared at the irrepressible Briton. Then he raised the glasses again and scanned the horizon, finishing up his scrutiny by keeping the on-coming craft under observation.
For half a minute he looked steadfastly at the approaching destroyers, then he gave an order to a man standing by the diminutive mast.
Promptly the sailor hoisted the Black Cross Ensign, but whether as a token of defiance or otherwise the British officers were unable to decide. But they were not long left in ignorance.
"You are a little too hasty in your surmise, Mr. Englishman," sneered the kapitan-leutnant. "You will yet sample the joys of a German prison. These are two of our torpedo-boats."
CHAPTER XVII
THE MIDDLE WATCH
A DULL, reverberating crash roused Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft from his temporary bunk on board H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer "Audax."
"Eight bells," midnight, had just gone—silently, for the destroyer was ploughing through the waves at break-neck speed, without navigation lights and as steadily as possible. So well were her oil-fed furnaces tended that no tell-tale sparks escaped from her four squat funnels. In spite of the heavy seas she was cleared for action; life-lines took the place of the stanchion rails and afforded the only means of preventing the bluejackets being swept overboard by the green seas that poured completely over the raised fo'c'sle. Around the four-inch guns men hung on, ready at the first alarm to open fire, while the deadly torpedoes had been launched into their tubes to be let loose at the word of command upon the first unit of the German Navy—be she large or small—that had the temerity to try conclusions with the alert British destroyer.
There had been signs of activity in Hun naval circles—activity forced upon them by prompt and vigorous measures of the sea-dogs under the White Ensign. Zeebrugge was getting too hot to hold the German torpedo-boat flotillas that for months had existed under nerve-racking conditions in that Belgian port. Constant bombardments from the sea and from the air had made the Huns' new base so insecure that the German ocean-going torpedo-boats (craft that compare in point of size with destroyers, although the term destroyer does not figure in Hun naval reports) had been compelled to make a dash for the neutral defences of the Elbe, Weser and Jade. Existing conditions made it undesirable to sneak through Dutch territorial waters, and the only other way was by a circuitous course rendered necessary by the presence of a vast British minefield.
The British Admiralty, out of consideration for neutral shipping, had advertised the limits of the danger zone, which was an aggressive minefield rather than a defensive one—in other words its base was situated close to the German coast, while its apex stretched westward far across the North Sea. Round this apex the German torpedo craft had to make their way.
Knowledge of the attempted dash had reached the ears of the British Commander-in-Chief, and strong flotillas of destroyers were patrolling the length and breadth of the North Sea, their search assisted in broad daylight by seaplanes sent up from attendant parent ships. At night the difficulty of maintaining the cordon was enormously increased. A German boat might slip through in the darkness, while, even if discovered, her attackers would be under the disadvantage of making sure that she was not one of their consorts before opening fire.
The "Audax" was operating in the high latitudes of the North Sea. In fact, if she held on the course for another five hours she would run ashore somewhere in the close proximity of The Naze of Norway.
Two miles ahead and astern of her were other vessels of the same class, the line being continued until the chain of destroyers stretched across the North Sea from Scotland almost to Scandinavia. The Straits of Dover were similarly patrolled, while auxiliary destroyers swept the seas between the northern and southern limits, ready to head off the fugitives or bring them to action.
Rolling fully dressed out of his bunk—for under these conditions it would be folly to turn in otherwise—Billy dashed on deck, followed by the Engineer-lieutenant, who happened to be the only officer in the ward-room not on watch.
Wriggling through the partly-closed hatchway, dubbed by courtesy the "companion," and receiving a greeting in the form of a cold douche—the tail end of a particularly vicious comber—Barcroft stood still until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then, grasping the life-line, he made his way for'ard, often knee-deep in water, until he gained the doubtful shelter afforded by the rise of the fo'c'sle. Here, clustered round the two guns abreast the for'ard funnel, were a dozen men in "lammy" suits, oilskins and sou'-westers, all peering through the darkness in the direction in which the "Audax" was now proceeding.
"What was the explosion, Mr. Black?" inquired Barcroft of the gunner.
"We don't know, sir," replied the warrant officer. "A mighty big flash and a brute of a report. We've wirelessed the commodore to ask permission to investigate, and now we're off to see, judging by the alteration of course."
The young officer thanked him for the information, vague though it might be, and ascending the bridge ladder took up his stand in front of the after guard-rail of the bridge.
Lieutenant-commander Aubyn and three of his officers were standing with their backs turned to him, oblivious of his presence. Actually Barcroft had no right there, save on sufferance and by the courtesy of the skipper. The executive officers were crouching behind the storm-dodgers—the force of the wind and the sting of the icy spray made it impossible to withstand the full force of the elements unless protected by these canvas screens—and were directing their attention mainly on some as yet invisible object dead ahead. At intervals one or other of the officers would scan the seas abeam, as if expecting to see a dark and swiftly-moving vessel—to wit, an enemy craft pelt through the blackness of the night on her dash for safety.
The skipper remained as rigid as a statue, the personification of silent alertness; but the lieutenant and sub of the "Audax" were conversing, raising their voices in order to make themselves understood above the roar of the wind and the crashing of the waves as they flew over the fore-deck of the destroyer and hurtled against the bridge. Scraps of the discussion wafted to Barcroft's ears.