Chapter VIII: Part 8

Max turned and strode back to the binnacle, stood beside it, and then lifted his eyes to the ensign fluttering proudly in the breeze. He glanced round to assure himself that he was not being watched, and then, alone and, as he believed, unseen, he raised his hand to the salute.

*CHAPTER XXXV.*

*PRISONERS OF WAR.*

"Hurry up, Newruck, or we shall not get out of harbour until this ship comes in. Bring along that hamper."

Scoutmaster Arnold Bilverstone was taking the Lion Patrol out for a two days' cruise in their cutter. They had intended to be away for a week, but Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole could not spare so much time. They had both been appointed to a new trawler to go on active service. They were not supposed to talk about it, but the whole patrol knew that the destination of their two lucky companions was the Dardanelles, where they were to engage in the work of sweeping for German and Turkish mines.

Naturally they were very much envied. They would cross the Bay of Biscay, and see the Rock of Gibraltar. They would steam the whole length of the Mediterranean, and perhaps even go as far as Constantinople. There were glorious possibilities in the adventure, but more than all was the chance they would have of really helping in the war and watching the _Queen Elizabeth_ firing her great fifteen-inch guns into the Turkish forts.

Compared with such prospects, a trip in the _Be Prepared_ was a very small affair indeed.

"I'm afraid we are too late already, sir," said Darby Catchpole, looking out through the harbour mouth to where a panting tug boat was bringing in a strange-looking, green-painted barque.

Mark Redisham followed his glance.

"She's a foreigner," he decided, "and yet she's flying the British flag! How's that? Hullo! look, Mr. Bilverstone! There's a naval officer on her poop deck, and there are some of our bluejackets among her crew."

Mr. Bilverstone was so much interested in the vessel that he stepped out on to the quay and strode along towards the end of the pier. Presently he signalled to the Scouts to join him.

"I expect she's been captured," he said, as the barque came nearer. "Perhaps she has been caught carrying contraband of war."

The tug glided in between the piers, and as the barque followed at the end of the towing warp Mark read the name _Olaf Triggvason_ on her green-painted side. Looking down on her main deck he saw a crowd of foreign sailors lying or seated on the hatch cover, guarded by armed bluejackets. Some of them looked like officers; others were dressed as naval seamen.

"Prisoners of war," said Mr. Bilverstone.

Then he leant forward more eagerly. One of the prisoners, the youngest and most ragged of the lot, had stood up on the hatch cover. He looked across at the group on the quay, and smiled wanly as he raised his hand to the Scout's salute.

"Why, it's Max Hilliger!" cried Darby Catchpole. "And the others must be his shipmates off the submarine! Let us wait and see them brought ashore."

The _Olaf Triggvason_ was warped alongside the pier before being taken through the bridge into the inner harbour. Officers from the naval base went aboard. As soon as it became known in the port that a captive ship had been brought in many of the townspeople thronged to the pier, but Police-constable Challis drove them back, and a barrier was drawn across.

In the meantime, Midshipman Rodney Redisham had stepped ashore from the barque to greet his brother Mark.

"So you've sunk a submarine?" said Mark.

"We may have captured one," returned Rodney.

"It was the U50 of course," pursued Mark. "You've got Max Hilliger a prisoner. It's a good thing to have put an end to the U50. She's done a lot of damage one way and another."

"Most of the German submarine commanders have tried to do that," said Rodney. "I suppose it was their duty. You can't blame the officers. They've got to obey their sailing orders."

"What, even when they're told to sink such a ship as the _Ruritania_?" questioned Darby Catchpole.

"Oh, but Max Hilliger was never concerned with a crime like that!" declared Mark Redisham.

"I should hope not," added his brother. "From what I know of him I believe he'd sooner go on strike than have a hand in sinking any but enemy ships of war. But, of course, we've never asked them any questions."

He paused for a moment, and then added:

"I've had several talks with Max Hilliger, and he isn't a bad sort of chap at heart. He's a German, but I believe he'd much rather fight for our King than for the Kaiser."

"Strictly between ourselves," interposed Constable Challis, "I don't think he'll have a chance of fightin' for either."

"Ah, they're being brought ashore now!" said Mr. Bilverstone. "I expect they're going off by the 3-20 train to one of the concentration camps. Attention, Scouts!"

The troop stood in line, and as the prisoners marched by, Max Hilliger walked with his head bowed and his hand raised to his cap. Suddenly he stopped and looked round at his former companions.

"It's jolly good of you chaps not to mock and jeer at me," he said bravely; "but I may tell you that I am glad to be here--back again in England. And--and," he stammered, "God save the King."