CHAPTER XXVIII
THE HOMECOMING
"IT'S time those scallywags of ours put in an appearance,Sparrowhawk," remarked Colonel Greyhouse of the Auldhaig Air Station."They reported from Leith two days ago. We're short-handed, andthere's a patrol needed to escort the light cruisers back."
"Quite true, sir," agreed Major Sparrowhawk. "I'll 'phone through.Because they had a joy-ride on a Q-boat is no excuse for kickingtheir heels around Leith and Edinburgh."
"And how's young Pyecroft?" inquired the C.O.
"Reported for duty this morning, sir," replied the second-in-command."I asked him if he wanted sick leave and he declined."
Colonel Greyhouse raised his eyebrows in surprise. Never before hadhe known of a case of a junior officer refusing leave.
"Wonder what his game is?" he remarked, as he gathered his cap,gloves and stick from an untidy heap on the ante-room table.
Before the second-in-command could think of a suitable reply, thedoor was thrown open and the three absentees filed into theroom--Captain Cumberleigh leading, followed by Lieutenants Blenkinsonand Jefferson.
"Detained at Area Headquarters, sir," reported Captain Cumberleigh.
"All right," rejoined the C.O. drily. "As it happens, you're just intime, Major Sparrowhawk will give you your orders."
He went out, leaving the three returned officers exchanging inquiringglances.
"The light-cruiser squadron went out yesterday to give a leg-up toyour pals in Q 171," explained the major. "There are U-boats knockingabout off the north of the Dogger. The C.O. wants a couple of blimpsto go out and get in touch with the cruisers."
"And Q 171: what of her, sir?" asked Blenkinson.
The major shook his head.
"No news has come through," he replied. "Apparently you fellows hadan exciting time."
"Rather, sir," exclaimed Jefferson. "I suppose Pyecroft told youeverything up to the time we lost sight of him. Plucky blighter,Pyecroft!"
"There's one point I'd like to mention, sir," remarked Cumberleigh.
"What's that?" asked Major Sparrowhawk.
"You owe me a double whisky," said Cumberleigh solemnly.
"By Jove, I do!" admitted the second-in-command. "You were rightabout that Fennelburt fellow. They are on his track, but I've had nonews of his capture."
"That's why we were detained," explained Cumberleigh. "There's a'tec--Entwistle is his name--on the spy's track. Almost nabbed him atYork, but he managed to slip through the 'tec's fingers. ThisEntwistle came to Leith to ask us certain questions. It appears thatFennelburt's real name is Karl von Preussen, and he's a don hand atthe game."
It was early on the following morning that the light-cruiser flotillacame into Auldhaig Harbour. All had their funnels blistered andstripped of paint, testifying to the efforts of the engine-room staffto break all records in the matter of speed. After them came thedestroyers, a few showing signs of having been in action.
In single column line ahead they stole on at reduced speed, theirpassing greeted with resounding cheers from the crews of the vesselsat anchor and from dense crowds of spectators who lined the shore.Silently, as if too modest to take unto themselves any credit forwhat they had done, the cruisers went to their appointedmooring-buoys and the destroyers disappeared from view within theentrance to the large basin in Auldhaig Dockyard.
But still the crowd refused to disperse.
They expected something more. Even the bald official Admiraltyannouncement--"One of our Light-Cruiser Squadrons, supported bydestroyers, sighted and engaged enemy forces in the North Sea. Threeenemy destroyers were sunk; the rest escaped, apparently heavilydamaged. Our casualties were light"--had failed to keep one of thesalient features of the action a secret. The inhabitants of Auldhaigremained on the shore, expecting, and were not disappointed of, aspectacle.
Well in the rear of the flotilla came three vessels, one towinganother and the third steaming slowly a cable's length astern.Overhead, their envelopes glistening in the sunlight, were threecoastal airships.
As the expected vessels drew nearer telescopes and field-glasses werelevelled in a formidable battery by the throng.
"That's the _Inattentive_, sure," declared a man who wore a silverbadge and had the appearance of a sailor despite the fact that onecoat-sleeve was empty and pinned across his breast. "She's got theQ-boat in tow. Looks like the old _Pylos_ coming up astern."
"Looks like a U-boat in tow," remarked another spectator. "P'rapsthey've captured her before her crew could sink her--dirty dogs!"
The Silver Badge man handed his telescope to a boy and tapped thesecond speaker on the shoulder.
"Look here, my man!" he exclaimed. "She's flying a flag, isn't she?What flag is it?"
"White Ensign--half-mast high," replied the other.
"Then what d'ye mean by saying she's a blinkin' U-boat?" demanded theex-bluejacket hotly. "If she were, you'd be seein' that White Ensignflyin' over Fritz's rotten ensign. That, I tell you, is the Q-boatour light cruisers went out to bring in. And they've jolly well doneit, too. Stand by, you chaps, an' give her a proper British cheer."
Slowly, very slowly, the _Inattentive_ passed the Outer Bar Buoy, andturning close in shore followed the line of buoys marking theapproach channel to Auldhaig Harbour.
The spectators wanted a sight. What they saw was a long hull,battered and scarred. The deck was little more than a litter of tornand riddled steelwork, but conspicuous among the debris was themuzzle of a dismounted quick-firer that tilted at an acute angle tothe sky. Right aft a space had been cleared, and on it were rows ofmotionless figures wrapped in canvas hammocks. Clustered round thehastily repaired stanchion-rails were a few bandaged heroes whoseappearance resembled that of tramps rather than British bluejackets.
Cheers? Not a sound. At the sight of the half-masted Ensign and thegallant dead lying upon the deck of the ship that they had fought sowell, the desire to cheer was quelled. As if by a common impulse thecrowd stood silent and bareheaded, as a tribute to those who had laiddown their lives for King and Country.
But "Tough Geordie," Wakefield and Meredith were ignorant of thesilent tribute. They were still unconscious.
With those dishevelled but undaunted survivors of her crew standingat attention, Q 171 glided past the port flagship, the towing hawserwas slipped, and the battered mystery ship, taken in charge of adockyard tug, was safely berthed alongside the jetty.
Ambulances were already in attendance, and the work of transferringthe wounded to the naval hospital was immediately put in hand.
Wakefield opened his eyes as he was being carried up the broad stepsinto the building. Morpeth had a partial return to consciousnessalmost at the same time.
Looking round at the unfamiliar surroundings, he appeared to besolving some perplexing problem. His last conscious vision as he laywith a shattered arm upon the deck of the ship he had handled somagnificently was that of a man scrambling through the smoke andacross a pile of debris to the triple torpedo-tubes. He watched theunknown hero fumbling over the releasing levers until at last a "tinfish" leapt from the only serviceable tube. Then in a swirl ofpungent smoke the vision grew blurred and faded into nothingness.
"What I want to know is," he exclaimed with startling clearness, "whothe blue blazes fired that last torpedo? 'Tany rate, it got herproperly."
And Wakefield smiled to himself and closed his eyes again. ButKenneth Meredith was still in blissful ignorance of his surroundings.