CHAPTER IX
The Landing at Port Treherne
"I wonder if they'll let us go on deck," remarked Vernon Haye. "If so,I vote we have a shot at getting ashore. What sort of show is PortTreherne?"
"I know it fairly well," replied Ross. "It's the most forsaken cribyou are ever likely to meet along the coast. It's a deep gully in thecliffs. There's only one small landing-place--a flat rock. Years agothere used to be a tramway down to the rock, and they shipped copperore by means of derricks into lighters, which were towed across in fineweather to Swansea. But the mine closed down, the village is nowdeserted, and I don't believe there are any fishermen there. They saythat the stream that flows into the port is still heavily charged withmundic. At all events the water is of a bright-red colour for severalhundred yards from shore, and no fish will stick that."
It was close on the midnight following the disastrous attempt on thepart of U75 to capture the oil-tank. The submarine was running awash,proceeding very slowly and cautiously towards Port Treherne--Station 41of the secret petrol depots established by German agents along thecoast of the British Islands.
The lads had been informed of the destination of the submarine, but hadnot been told why. Nevertheless it was an easy conjecture that U75 wasgoing there to pick up stores that she had been unable to obtain insufficient quantities at St. Mena's Island.
The Unter-leutnant was in charge of the submarine. Kapitan Schwalbehad taken the advantage of the opportunity of a few hours' sleep.Under-officered and undermanned, the strain on the personnel was asevere one. It was only on rare occasions that Schwalbe could infuture descend from his post in the conning-tower.
At midnight, according to custom, the submarine called up her consortsby wireless. Judging by the previous attempt it seemed a useless task,but to the Operator's surprise he received a reply from U77, which wasthen lying off the Scillies.
Kapitan Schwalbe, aroused from his sleep, eagerly awaited the decodingof the message. It was to the effect that the commander of U77 hadreceived information that H.M.S. _Tremendous_, one of the earlierDreadnoughts, was leaving Gibraltar for Rosyth. The _Tremendous_, heknew, had been engaged in the Dardanelles operations. U77 thereforesuggested that the two unterseebooten should meet at a rendezvous offThe Lizard, and attempt a _coup de main_, the success of which would gotowards atoning for the blunders and losses sustained by the Germansubmarines in their endeavour to blockade the British Isles.
"Good!" exclaimed Kapitan Schwalbe. "Tell them that I purpose torendezvous twenty kilometres S.W. by W. of The Lizard, on Thursday at10 p.m. I am now about to take in fuel. Will communicate again atnoon to-morrow. Ask them if they have picked up a wireless from U74."
Some time elapsed before the message could be coded by the sender andtranslated by the receiving submarine. When the reply confirming therendezvous was received, a message was added to the effect that U77 hadheard nothing of U74 for three days. It was presumed, however, thatshe was now on her way back to Wilhelmshaven, and was already out ofwireless range.
Kapitan Schwalbe knew better. As senior officer of the threesubmarines detached to operate in these waters, he was aware that U74would not have left her station without orders from him. That part ofthe message had been sent merely as a "blind", so that the crews of theremaining unterseebooten should not be discouraged. It was safe toconclude, decided Kapitan Schwalbe, that another of the blockaders hadgone to the bottom for the last time.
It was close on one o'clock when the "wirelessing" terminated. U75,which had hitherto been running awash, was now trimmed for surface work.
Most of the crew went on deck. Amongst them were Ross and Vernon, noone offering any objection.
The sea was no longer rough. A long oily swell took the place of thewhite-crested wave. The night was dark. Only a few stars werevisible. Away to the S.E., the black outlines of the Cornish coastreared themselves like an enormous wall against the gloomy sky.
Suddenly Vernon touched his chum's elbow, as a faint pin-prick of lightglimmered twice. It was the shore agent's signal that the coast wasclear.
Barely carrying steerage-way, U75 stood in towards the as yet invisiblePort Treherne. Already her crew had brought the collapsible canvasboat from below, "man-handling" it through the fore hatch. The men,having opened it out and shipped the felt-lined and well-greasedrowlocks, stood by to launch it.
Gradually the towering cliffs enclosing the creek becamedistinguishable against the loftier background of gaunt hills. Intothe gap the submarine crept with the utmost caution, until it seemed asif she were on the point of running her nose against the sheer face ofthe granite wall. The water bubbled slightly as her motors werereversed; then, turning in her own length, she brought up, with herbows pointing seawards.
Three of the crew grasped the canvas boat and pushed it gently into thewater on the port side. One of them clambered in and shipped the oarsin the row-locks.
The two lads were cautiously scanning the shores of the inlet. Rosscould sniff the unmistakable Cornish air. The call of home seemedirresistible. It looked a comparatively easy matter to slip quietlyover the starboard side, and swim with noiseless strokes towards theweed-covered rocks that showed six feet or more above the sea. It washalf ebb-tide; there was little or no drift out of the cove. Under theshadow of those dark cliffs detection seemed almost impossible, unlessthe submarine went to the risky expedient of switching on hersearch-light.
They moved stealthily towards the light wire railing on the starboardside just abaft the conning-tower. Everything seemed in their favour.Kapitan Schwalbe and the Unter-leutnant were on the navigationplatform, peering through their night-glasses towards the flat rockthat served as a landing-place. Two of the seamen were engaged incoiling down a hand-lead line; the rest of the men on deck weredevoting their attention to the now departing canvas boat.
"Not so fast, my friends," exclaimed a low deep voice, which the ladsrecognized as that of Kapitan Schwalbe. "Remember I have a pistolready to hand."
"How in the name of goodness did he know what we were up to?" thoughtRoss.
The chums stood stock-still. They felt much like children found out insome petty escapade.
"Koppe! Where are you?" asked the Kapitan in a loud whisper.
"Here, sir," replied the seaman.
"I hold you responsible for these Englishmen. Now they are trying togive us the slip. Take them below. But hold on. Secure them to astanchion. Chain them up, and bring me the key."
The seaman approached the lads almost apologetically, and led them tothe port side just for'ard of the conning-tower. A light steel chainwas hitched round Ross's right ankle and Vernon's left, and deftlypadlocked round one of the uprights supporting the hand-rail.
"It is of no use trying any of your pranks here," commented KapitanSchwalbe, still in a low tone. "You are only looking for trouble."
For several moments all was still, save for the screech of a benightedgull. Overhead a meteor passed swiftly across the sky, throwing a palegleam upon-the lurking submarine.
"Wer da?"
The words, although uttered in an undertone, travelled distinctly overthe placid waters of the cove.
The sailor in the boat muttered some inaudible reply. The listeners inthe submarine could detect the sound of his oars as he laid them acrossthe thwarts. Then, after further conversation, could be heard therumble of metal as the tins of petrol were rapidly placed in the boat.
"How many are there?" asked Kapitan Schwalbe eagerly as the menreturned with the first load.
"Forty here, Herr Kapitan. Altogether there are over two hundred."
"Then be sharp and whip them on board. Was there any communication forme?"
"A bundle of English newspapers, sir, and this letter."
The man drew the documents from the inside of his jumper and passedthem to a seaman, who in turn handed them to the skipper.
"I may have to land, sir," continued the seaman. "The rest of the c
ansare in a cove at some distance from the landing-place. Can Max go withme to mind the boat? There is a slight ground-swell at times, and shemight have a hole through her canvas if she is allowed to grind againstthe rocks."
Receiving an affirmative reply, the man told his comrade to get onboard, and once more the boat vanished into the darkness.
Another twenty minutes elapsed, then came the sounds of muffledfootsteps, and of volatile spirit surging inside the petrol cans. Thenone of the men must have slipped, for there was a slight scuffling,followed by the loud crash of a can clattering over the rocks.
"'Alt! Who goes there?" shouted a hoarse and unmistakably Englishvoice.
"Freund," promptly replied the German sailor.
It would have been far wiser on his part if he had waited for hisfellow-worker, the German agent, to reply, since his knowledge andpronunciation of English were almost perfect. But unfortunately it wasthe spy who had fallen, and, half-winded by coming in contact with oneof the tins, was gasping for breath and at the same time rubbing abarked shin.
"Not good enough for me, old sport," rejoined the challenger, andwithout further ado he let loose "five rounds rapid".
A loud yell announced that one of the bullets had at least takeneffect. It was the prostrate spy who received a dose of nickel throughthe fleshy part of his thigh.
The seaman, dropping his cans, fled for his life. Recklessly he leaptfrom the landing-place into the canvas boat, which his comrade had beenkeeping at oar's length from the shore. The sudden impetus was toomuch for the frail craft. She capsized, and, being onlysingle-skinned, sank like a stone.
Already men, members of a picket, were hastening to the sentry'ssupport, their progress marked by a lantern held by a stout and sleepysergeant.
By this time U75 was making for the open sea. Kapitan Schwalbe wascursing loudly; not because the luckless agent had been hit--it was hisfault for not making sure of his ground; not so much on account of theloss of two more men, nor of the sinking of the only boat belonging tothe submarine. His anger was aroused at the knowledge that once againhis efforts to obtain fuel had been balked. The quantity contained inforty tins was a mere fraction of the amount he required in order tocarry out his ambitious programme. Bitterly he realized that, likethose of transgressors, the ways of modern pirates are hard.