The dog needed no second order. Every morning just after eight bells
Shrap would be taken over by the watch below. Every man took a delight
in combing the animal's long hair, until Shrap's coat was the pride of
the _Capella's_ crew and the envy of the rest of the flotilla, whose
mascots never aspired to be more than a tame rat, parrot, or canary.

"Sail on the port bow, sir," bawled the look-out.

The Sub and the midshipman promptly levelled their telescopes. A small
cargo-steamer was pitching and rolling as she forged slowly ahead on a
westerly course. Although she was fairly discernible against the pale
grey of the eastern sky, it could be taken for granted that from the
Dutchman's bridge the neutral-grey-painted _Capella_ would be
practically invisible.

"She's slowing down," declared Vernon.

"What on earth for?" enquired the Sub. "She couldn't possibly have
spotted us. Starboard your helm, quartermaster. Good! Keep her at
that. We'll get her to make her number, if nothing else."

Again Noel Fox levelled his telescope. Then he thrust it into a rack
on the side of the chart-room, and bellowed:

"Turn up, both watches. Action stations. Submarine ahead."

His quick glance had discerned the after part of a large unterseeboot
as she ranged alongside the Dutchman, whose high sides screened most of
the submarine from the _Capella_, and conversely prevented the Germans
clustered amidships from noticing the approach of the swift British
patrol-vessel.

For the next few minutes, all was bustle and orderly confusion on board
the _Capella_. Taking three steps at a time, Captain Syllenger gained
the bridge, closely followed by Eccles, to whom the sudden interruption
of a hearty breakfast came as a welcome call.

At a terrific pace the sleuth-hound of the sea tore towards the
_Hoorn_, for such she was. Rounding under her squat counter, and
reversing engines, the _Capella_ brought up within fifty yards of the
submarine before the astonished Germans could realize their precarious
plight.

"Surrender, or I sink you!" roared Captain Syllenger.

The grim muzzles of the _Capella's_ 4.7's, trained at a point-blank
range, were a conclusive argument. Without waiting for orders, the
majority of the unterseeboot's crew held up their arms. For a brief
instant did her Kapitan hesitate.

"Me surrender," he replied.

"Very good; I accept your surrender," replied the _Capella's_ skipper.
"But understand, any a