Although the sea-plane had failed to achieve her object by pulverizing the U-boat's hull, the moral and material result was none the less effective.
The explosion of the bombs had started several of U75's plates. Numerous jets of water were spurting through the seams, the inrush requiring all the mechanical appliances at the command of the modern pirate to keep the leaks under control, while the badly-jarred nerves of Kapitan Schwalbe and his crew warned them of the grave risks they ran in attempting to try conclusions with even an apparently harmless craft displaying the Red Ensign of Britain's Mercantile Marine.
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 Port Treherne?"
"I know it fairly well," replied Ross. "It's the most forsaken crib you are ever likely to meet along the coast. It's a deep gully in the cliffs. There's only one small landing-place—a flat rock. Years ago there used to be a tramway down to the rock, and they shipped copper ore by means of derricks into lighters, which were towed across in fine weather to Swansea. But the mine closed down, the village is now deserted, and I don't believe there are any fishermen there. They say that the stream that flows into the port is still heavily charged with mundic. At all events the water is of a bright-red colour for several hundred yards from shore, and no fish will stick that."
It was close on the midnight following the disastrous attempt on the part of U75 to capture the oil-tank. The submarine was running awash, proceeding very slowly and cautiously towards Port Treherne—Station 41 of the secret petrol depots established by German agents along the coast of the British Islands.
The lads had been informed of the destination of the submarine, but had not been told why. Nevertheless it was an easy conjecture that U75 was going there to pick up stores that she had been unable to obtain in sufficient quantities at St. Mena's Island.
The Unter-leutnant was in charge of the submarine. Kapitan Schwalbe had taken the advantage of the opportunity of a few hours' sleep. Under-officered and undermanned, the strain on the personnel was a severe one. It was only on rare occasions that Schwalbe could in future descend from his post in the conning-tower.
At midnight, according to custom, the submarine called up her consorts by wireless. Judging by the previous attempt it seemed a useless task, but to the Operator's surprise he received a reply from U77, which was then lying off the Scillies.
Kapitan Schwalbe, aroused from his sleep, eagerly awaited the decoding of the message. It was to the effect that the commander of U77 had received information that H.M.S. Tremendous, one of the earlier Dreadnoughts, was leaving Gibraltar for Rosyth. The Tremendous, he knew, had been engaged in the Dardanelles operations. U77 therefore suggested that the two unterseebooten should meet at a rendezvous off The Lizard, and attempt a coup de main, the success of which would go towards atoning for the blunders and losses sustained by the German submarines in their endeavour to blockade the British Isles.
"Good!" exclaimed Kapitan Schwalbe. "Tell them that I purpose to rendezvous twenty kilometres S.W. by W. of The Lizard, on Thursday at 10 p.m. I am now about to take in fuel. Will communicate again at noon 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 and translated by the receiving submarine. When the reply confirming the rendezvous was received, a message was added to the effect that U77 had heard nothing of U74 for three days. It was presumed, however, that she was now on her way back to Wilhelmshaven, and was already out of wireless range.
Kapitan Schwalbe knew better. As senior officer of the three submarines detached to operate in these waters, he was aware that U74 would not have left her station without orders from him. That part of the message had been sent merely as a "blind", so that the crews of the remaining unterseebooten should not be discouraged. It was safe to conclude, decided Kapitan Schwalbe, that another of the blockaders had gone 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, no one offering any objection.
The sea was no longer rough. A long oily swell took the place of the white-crested wave. The night was dark. Only a few stars were visible. Away to the S.E., the black outlines of the Cornish coast reared themselves like an enormous wall against the gloomy sky.
Suddenly Vernon touched his chum's elbow, as a faint pin-prick of light glimmered twice. It was the shore agent's signal that the coast was clear.
Barely carrying steerage-way, U75 stood in towards the as yet invisible Port Treherne. Already her crew had brought the collapsible canvas boat from below, "man-handling" it through the fore hatch. The men, having opened it out and shipped the felt-lined and well-greased rowlocks, stood by to launch it.
Gradually the towering cliffs enclosing the creek became distinguishable against the loftier background of gaunt hills. Into the gap the submarine crept with the utmost caution, until it seemed as if she were on the point of running her nose against the sheer face of the granite wall. The water bubbled slightly as her motors were reversed; then, turning in her own length, she brought up, with her bows pointing seawards.
Three of the crew grasped the canvas boat and pushed it gently into the water on the port side. One of them clambered in and shipped the oars in the row-locks.
The two lads were cautiously scanning the shores of the inlet. Ross could sniff the unmistakable Cornish air. The call of home seemed irresistible. It looked a comparatively easy matter to slip quietly over the starboard side, and swim with noiseless strokes towards the weed-covered rocks that showed six feet or more above the sea. It was half ebb-tide; there was little or no drift out of the cove. Under the shadow of those dark cliffs detection seemed almost impossible, unless the submarine went to the risky expedient of switching on her search-light.
They moved stealthily towards the light wire railing on the starboard side just abaft the conning-tower. Everything seemed in their favour. Kapitan Schwalbe and the Unter-leutnant were on the navigation platform, peering through their night-glasses towards the flat rock that served as a landing-place. Two of the seamen were engaged in coiling down a hand-lead line; the rest of the men on deck were devoting their attention to the now departing canvas boat.
"Not so fast, my friends," exclaimed a low deep voice, which the lads recognized as that of Kapitan Schwalbe. "Remember I have a pistol ready to hand."
"How in the name of goodness did he know what we were up to?" thought Ross.
The chums stood stock-still. They felt much like children found out in some 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 to give us the slip. Take them below. But hold on. Secure them to a stanchion. Chain them up, and bring me the key."