A Sub. of the R.N.R.: A Story of the Great War

CHAPTER XXIII. CHAPTER XXIII. THE STRUGGLE IN THE CUTTING. Possibly no one was more astonished than Terence to find himself a full-blown lieutenant. Yet it was a fact and a pleasant surprise, especially when he had misgivings as to the unorthodox method of destroying the hostile submarine. Promotion, he knew, meant an appointment to another ship. That was the fly in the ointment, for in spite of certain discomforts that life on a destroyer brings in its train, he had become thoroughly attached to the "Livingstone." He had hopes that his old skipper, Captain Holloway, late of the "Terrier," might use his influence in getting him appointed to the "Bombard"—a modern light-cruiser which Captain Holloway had recently commissioned, and which, according to well-founded rumours, was to proceed to the Mediterranean to take part in the operations against the Dardanelles. It was therefore with mixed feelings that Terence found himself appointed to his old ship, the armed merchantman "Strongbow," which, having completed her extensive repairs and refit at Aberdeen, was to be recommissioned, as far as practicable, with her former officers and crew. The newly-appointed lieutenant was sorry, since it meant being relegated to the somewhat monotonous, although necessary task of patrolling, instead of having a chance to smell powder on one of the fighting ships. Unless an unforeseen incident occurred, the possibilities of quitting the patrol service seemed very remote. The number of hostile mines in the North Sea had been steadily reduced by systematic sweeping while the German pirate submarines seemed to give the northern area of the North Sea a wide berth—possibly owing to the fact that there was more scope for the despicable energies in the Channel and in the vicinity of the great mercantile ports. Thus the element of risk that prevailed in the earlier stages of the war had been considerably diminished; henceforth, according to Aubyn's opinion, patrol work would be one long round of cruising, examining neutral vessels, and, perhaps, making a few isolated captures of ships carrying suspected contraband. Yet it was his duty, and he accepted it in the spirit of a true British seaman: he had to obey orders even if they entailed work of a cheerless and uneventful character. On the other hand, Terence was pleased at the thought of having to meet his former comrades. Nor would the severe climatic conditions be so intense. The days were longer and the nights correspondingly shorter, and although the temperature was low and the Equinoctial gales about due, the fact that spring was rapidly approaching was in itself sufficient compensation for the passing rigours of patrol work in the North Sea. The lieutenant had two clear days before rejoining the "Strongbow," which had left Aberdeen and put into Leith to replenish magazines and bunkers. Owing to the dislocation of the train service through the moving of large numbers of troops from the North to Salisbury Plain, Terence knew that it would be unwise to delay his journey. He therefore decided to proceed straight to Edinburgh, put up for the night, and go on to Leith on the following morning. Arriving in London he seized the chance of visiting a theatre in company with some friends, knowing that it might be months before a similar opportunity occurred again; then, having had supper, he caught the night mail train to the north. There were comparatively few passengers. The lieutenant, finding that he had a first-class carriage to himself, thought it best to spend the tedious journey by snatching a few hours' sleep. Accustomed to slumber under awkward conditions he was soon lost in oblivion. How long he slept he had no idea. Suddenly he was awakened by the hurried application of the brakes. The train slowed down so quickly that the alteration of momentum wellnigh threw him off the seat. He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes past two. Under ordinary circumstances the journey was a non-stop one, the mails being dropped or taken up by means of nets while the train was in motion. Curiosity prompted Terence to open the window and look out. It was a pitch dark night. Rain was falling in a steady drizzle. The lamps in the carriages had been screened by drawing the blinds, as a precaution against hostile air-raids, but in many cases the passengers had rushed to the windows. Thus the glare of the lamps showed the lieutenant that the train had come to a standstill in a rocky cutting. "Rotten night," commented Aubyn to himself. He looked along the line. The signals were not set at danger, for a hundred yards ahead of the engine a bright green light gleamed through the mirk. "What's up, guard?" asked Terence, as that official, followed by two or three passengers, walked briskly along the permanent way. Already he had gone to the front part of the train to confer with the driver, and was now on his way back. "Man killed or something," replied the guard vaguely. "A soldier stopped the train—one of them chaps guarding the tunnel. You're not a doctor, by any chance, sir? We had half a dozen ships' doctors in the train last night." "I am not," replied Terence. "But I'll go with you, in case I can be of any use." Buttoning his great-coat up to his chin and pulling the peak of his cap well over his eyes, the lieutenant descended and joined the little band of volunteer helpers. The rear end of the train was only just clear of the tunnel, so promptly had the driver brought the engine to a standstill. Lying by the side of the rail was a motionless figure in khaki, while standing by him and still grasping his rifle and bayonet was another soldier. "No doctor, my man," declared the guard. "I've inquired of every carriage. How did it happen? We didn't run over your mate, did we?" "No," replied the Tommy, an elderly National Reservist. He was shaking like a leaf. "No, it was that goods train. Cut his foot off as clean as a bloomin' whistle. But that ain't the point. Poor old Bill was put across the metals, only the bloke didn't do the job properly." "What?" exclaimed the guard incredulously. "Truth—honest truth—an' my eyesight ain't at fault, even though it's a beastly dark night. Bill was standin' easy over there. I was about here. S'elp me, as true as I'm a-standin' here, I saw a bloke spring upon my chum and push him across the line. Afore I could up with my rifle the train comes tearing along. When it had gone it was too late. The bloke had done a bunk. And," he added reminiscently, "Bill was a right good sort. Never had a grudge against nobody, so it licks me why the fellow wanted to out him." Meanwhile, Terence had been paying attention to the unfortunate sentry. The man was dead. His left foot had been severed at the ankle. That in itself would hardly be sufficient to cause death. "Turn your light this way, guard," said Aubyn, as he began to unbuckle the man's ammunition pouches and to unbutton his coat. A thin streak of blood upon the victim's shirt told its own tale. He had been shot—evidently by a small yet powerful pistol at close range, for the great-coat and buff straps were pitted with the grains of powder. "Did you hear a shot fired?" demanded Terence. "No, sir," replied the Tommy. The suggestion of a shot being fired aroused a new train of ideas in his mind. "No, sir; see, his rifle hasn't been discharged." "I mean, did you hear a shot being fired at him?" The sentry shook his head. "The man's been murdered by a pistol shot, right enough," declared Terence. "Either the noise of the train deadened the report, or else the murderer muffled the weapon in a cloth. The best thing you can do, guard, is to take the poor fellow's body on to the next station." "An my relief ain't due for another hour and a quarter!" gasped the remaining sentry. He had been completely unnerved at the sight of his chum being foully done to death. "All right, my man," said Terence, "I'll stop with you. I suppose I can get to Edinburgh by another train, guard?" "Yes, sir," replied that official. "Next station's only a matter of three or four miles. But you won't be lonely. There's half a dozen troop trains on the up-line within the next three hours. I'll take the corpse, sir, if these gents'll bear a hand. 'Tain't the first poor chap that's been done in like this: not by a long way. Good-night, sir, and good luck." Presently the mail train resumed its journey. The sentry, nervously fingering his rifle, seemed grateful to the young officer, but at the same time he regarded him with a certain amount of suspicion. Perhaps his naval uniform was a disguise. He might be an accomplice of the man who had murdered his chum. Troop trains? That started a fresh chain of surmises. This dastardly act might be that of a spy, intent upon damaging the tunnel and wrecking the crowded trains. "Look here, my man," said the lieutenant, "are you game to going and standing where your chum was posted?" "What for, sir?" asked the soldier, with obvious reluctance at the suggestion. "Oh, never mind. I'll go. You remain here. If you see or hear anything suspicious, don't hesitate—shoot. You're a fairly good shot, I hope?" "Don't know about that, sir; I feel all of a tremble." "Then fire anywhere, as long as you don't wing me. I want you to prop yourself between these two rocks and keep as quiet as you possibly can. Don't let yourself be seen. I'll take your chum's rifle. If you hear me fire, hop across the line as sharp as you can, with your bayonet at the charge. Buck up, man, and keep your nerves." Having seen the sentry take up the position indicated—in a niche formed by two large boulders in the side of the cutting—Terence secured the rifle and bayonet of the dead man. The rifle was a magazineless '303, with Martini action, similar to those issued to troops engaged in home defence. Donning the pouches of the unfortunate sentry, the lieutenant took out a cartridge, inserted it into the breech and closed the breech-block. Then, having ascertained by touch that the back-sight was down, he crossed the line and commenced to walk the murdered sentry's beat. In the darkness his naval cap and great-coat were not to be distinguished from those of the man he was impersonating. He felt certain that should the crime have been committed by a German agent, the reason was the destruction of the tunnel. When the mail train stopped, the miscreant would certainly betake himself to a safe distance; but with his work uncompleted, he would almost certainly return. He had marked the time when the two sentries were posted he knew when their reliefs were expected. Before that time he must render the second sentry incapable of raising an alarm and then proceed with the blocking of the line. In his operations the spy had made one serious blunder. He had shot the sentry, as had been surmised, and had thrown his body on the line in front of the goods train, so that it would be taken for granted that the luckless man had been knocked down while incautiously walking his beat. But instead of the train mangling the victim's body and thus destroying all traces of the fatal shot, the wheels had only severed one of the unfortunate man's feet. For half an hour Terence maintained his sentry-go. The rain was now falling heavily. His great-coat felt as weighty as lead. The moisture dropped from the peak of his cap and filled the palm of his left hand as he held the butt of his rifle. The sub.'s nerves were in splendid condition. The hand that held the rifle was as steady as a rock. With eyes and ears strained he paced to and fro, prepared at the least sound to face about, bring his rifle to the ready and fire. From a strategic point of view his position was an unsound one. By the remaining sentry's description the miscreant must have retired from the scene of action not by running into the tunnel but by scaling the fairly accessible wall of rock. Consequently the anticipated attack would be from that direction, and Terence was liable to be fired at from a height of from ten to fifty feet above his head. Presently a dull but increasing rumble greeted his ears. It was a local down-train, which had just entered the far end of the tunnel. Instead of grounding the butt of his rifle and facing the line, as he had seen other sentries do, the lieutenant marched to the mouth of the tunnel; then, leaning his shoulder hard against the massive stone buttress, waited for the train to pass. A vivid flame spurted from the opposite side of the cutting, followed practically simultaneously by a sharp report that outvoiced the roar of the train. The sentry, without waiting to challenge, had "let rip." Bringing his rifle to the ready, Terence waited. He had not long to wait. Silhouetted against the gloomy rain-laden sky—for by this time Terence's eyes were used to the darkness—appeared the head, arms and shoulders of a man. In his right hand he held an automatic pistol, and was now blazing away indiscriminately, judging by the splash of flame that stabbed the night in varying directions. He seemed to be leaning over a rock in the side of the cutting with the intention, now that he had been fired upon, to get at close quarters with the sentry. Bringing his rifle to his shoulder Terence aimed low and pressed the trigger. The fellow gave no convulsive spring; he merely toppled over and fell on the permanent way just as the train emerged, with a rush and a roar and a dense cloud of steam, from the tunnel. Jerking the lever of his breech-block, the lieutenant inserted a fresh cartridge. He still kept close to the buttress, even after the train had passed. Experience had taught him the necessity for caution in dealing with a wily foe. Not that he feared anything from the man who had been shot. His headlong tumble down the almost precipitous side of the cutting was too realistic for a person shamming death. The soldier, emerging from his shelter, began to cross the line. Before he was half-way across, another shot rang out from the top of the cutting. The Tommy collapsed in a heap. Terence let him lie. His whole attention was centred upon the spot from whence the last bullet had sped. With his rifle ready to be lifted to his shoulder, Aubyn waited like a hunter stalking his prey. He knew that he would not have to wait long. A desperate attempt was being made to destroy the tunnel—an attempt in which the lives of two or more men mattered but little provided success attended the miscreants' efforts. The firer of the last shot, he reasoned, imagined that with the murder of the first sentry, he had only one man to deal with, and now he was lying motionless on the ballast. Thinking that "the coast was clear" the desperado would presently show himself. A hunched-up shape appeared at the top of the embankment. Some one was descending with his face towards the rock. He was progressing slowly and cautiously, making certain that he had obtained a firm foothold before he groped for a lower one. Every now and then he would turn his head and look towards the doubled-up body of the sentry, till, satisfied that there was no danger in that direction, he gave his whole attention to his descent. Levelling his rifle, Terence took deliberate aim. He had no qualms in so doing. The fellow was a murderer and train-wrecker, and undoubtedly an agent of the German Government. The lieutenant was alone and unsupported. If he should be "done in" there would be no further obstacle between the miscreant and the success of his diabolical scheme. Besides, there might be more than two men engaged in the enterprise, which, if it matured, might mean the death of perhaps hundreds of human beings. Terence aimed fairly in the centre of the climber's back. It afforded the best target in the darkness. With no more compunction than if he were shooting a rat, the lieutenant pressed the trigger. The report of the rifle was outvoiced by a loud detonation, accompanied by a vivid flash. For one moment Terence stood stock still, his eyes temporarily blinded by the sudden glare. Then he realized that his cap had gone. His face was wet, not with the chilly rain but with a warm moisture. Something had struck him on the cheek, inflicting a small cut from which the blood flowed freely. "A pretty rumpus!" he soliloquized. "The rotter has plugged me—no, it can't be that. It's only a slight gash. I wonder if he hurled a bomb." "Blowed to atoms, sir; that's what's happened to him—the blighter!" exclaimed a voice that seemed to come from the ground. "I thought you were a dead man, by Jove!" exclaimed Terence bluntly, as he recognized the sentry by his voice. "Not yet, sir," replied the man. "He put a bullet through my leg—just above the knee. It don't hurt much, but it kippered me, so I thought I'd lie low and see what happened. I'd a cartridge ready, though, in case of an accident." "We ought to stop the next train," said Terence, as he stooped to recover his cap. "The rail might be damaged. I think that fellow had a few detonators on him, and my shot did the trick. How did you stop the train I was in?" "Had a lantern, sir. It's somewhere along the line. But our chaps must have heard the racket, an the sergeant'll be coming along in half a tick." "Wind the wrong way," declared Terence laconically. "I'll bandage that leg of yours and then I'll get the lantern." The miscreant's bullet—from a small calibre high velocity pistol—had passed completely through the soldier's leg, fortunately without severing any arteries. Having attended to the wound and bidden the man sit down by the side of the bank, Aubyn set out on his search. It was a fruitless quest. Other means had to be found to bring the troop train to a standstill. "There's a signal a couple of hundred yards down the line, sir," announced the sentry. "It's worked from a box a long way off. Maybe, sir, you can climb up and tie this red handkerchief of mine over the green light." Terence took the handkerchief. He knew that the plan was a useless one, since the result would be a semi-opaque gleam, as the red would neutralize the green. But the red cloth might come in handy. The matter was urgent, for the train was about due. As he passed along the up-line his progress was checked by an enormous boulder that, dislodged by the explosion, had fallen on the permanent way and across one of the metals. Its weight was far beyond his strength to move. Skirting the obstruction the lieutenant broke into a run, keeping up a hot pace till he reached the foot of the signal post. Already the red disc had changed to green, showing that, to the signalman's belief, the line was clear. Terence knew that if the operating rod could be severed the signal arm would, by reason of a weighted lever, rise to the "stop" position. He tugged savagely at it, but without success. A spanner might have saved the situation, but he was without such an article. Suddenly an idea flashed through his mind. Ascending the swaying ladder, he gained the platform just below the arm. Here he could reach the discs with comparative ease. "Wind's right direction," he muttered. "Can't blow the light out very well, so here goes." Unlacing and pulling off his boot, Terence made a determined onslaught upon the thick green glass. It stoutly resisted several blows, cracking at the sixth and shivering out of its frame at the two next. As the lieutenant had foreseen the now open space was away from the wind, and beyond a slight unsteadiness the lamp burned well. Knotting the red handkerchief across the open disc, Terence descended to take a more remote view of his handiwork. The red light shone sufficiently bright to be observed at a considerable distance, but as a matter of precaution he held his rifle ready to fire into the air to attract the attention of the driver of the on-coming troop train. "Here she comes," exclaimed Terence, as a dull rumble could be heard in the distance. Presently a cloud of flame-tinged smoke announced that the engine had rounded the curve. Terence raised his rifle, but there was no need to fire. With a loud grinding of brakes, accompanied by showers of sparks, the train drew up, the engine coming to a standstill within eighty yards of the signal post. "What's up now, mate?" demanded the engine-driver, as, leaning over the side of the "cab" he saw what he imagined to be one of the soldiers whom he knew to be stationed on either side of the tunnel. "Line blocked," replied Terence. "And what's more, two men killed and another injured." Leaving the driver to act for himself, Terence passed along the row of stationary carriages, filled with troops, who, for the most part, were singing uproariously. A few were looking out of the windows, but the pulling up of the train had aroused but little curiosity. They were already too used to being held up on sidings, even in the course of a comparatively short journey. At the first first-class carriage he came to, Terence clambered on to the foot-board and opened the door. Within were a couple of majors, a captain and a lieutenant enjoying a hand of cards. Briefly Aubyn told them of what had occurred, and suggested that an investigation should be made of the victims while the line was being cleared. "Good idea, by Jove!" exclaimed the senior field-officer. Alighting, he blew a whistle. The uproar ceased as if by magic, and the men began to descend from the train. For the most part they imagined that a Zeppelin had been sighted. They treated the possibility almost with indifference, but their interest was quickly excited when they learned that an attempt had been made to derail or blow up the train. Accompanied by several of the officers, and escorted by the driver and the guard of the train and a score of soldiers, Terence led the way. The obstruction had, fortunately, not fractured either the rail or the chairs. By the aid of plenty of willing helpers, the rock was levered back into a shallow ditch at the foot of the cutting. Then there was just room for the train to pass, for the stone was nearly ten feet in circumference. "Here's the sentry," announced Terence, indicating the wounded soldier. A number of men carried the luckless Tommy into one of the carriages, where he was promptly attended to by a captain of the R.A.M.C., while it was decided to detail two of the men from the troop train to mount guard until the proper reliefs arrived. Meanwhile, the wounded man could be taken to the nearest station, close to which was a hospital where he could be well looked after. By this time there was light in plenty. Terence had no idea that a train carried so many lamps. The next task was to look for the bodies of the two miscreants. That of the first was discovered in a ditch. He had been shot through the forehead and through the body, either wound being sufficient to cause death. The explanation was simple: one of the wounds had been caused by the bullet from the sentry's rifle. The victim in his death agonies had convulsively gripped the trigger of his automatic pistol, and thus had caused the fusillade Terence had seen and heard. When he fired, the lieutenant's bullet had also struck the fellow, but by that time he was already a corpse. A further search revealed a considerable cavity blown into the side of the embankment. The rocks around were scorched by the heat of the explosion, which had horribly mangled the corpse of the second conspirator, although strangely enough his features were hardly injured. A light was flashed upon his face. Terence recognized it instantly. It was that of Major von Eckenhardt, master-spy and desperate plotter. The rascal had met with his deserts. After his escape from Edinburgh Castle he had, according to his usual practice, laid low for a time. Then, owing to the adroit manner in which the authorities had made use of his secret wireless installation, the German Admiralty found itself landed into a very awkward situation on more than one occasion. It was not until von Eckenhardt contrived to send a secret message to his employers, explaining the reason for his failure, that the German authorities realized that they had been tricked. In reply came a message savouring of a reprimand. Von Eckenhardt ought, it said, to have taken greater precautions to prevent such eventualities. Finally the message hinted pretty broadly that an act of signal service to the Fatherland would alone atone for the blunders that the spy had made. Von Eckenhardt was desperate. He knew that the German Secret Service had no mercy for its servants who had failed. Indeed, he wondered why he had been given another chance. By the implied tone of the communication he realized that he had to undertake a "forlorn hope." If successful, then, perhaps, he might be reinstated into favour; otherwise it would be preferable to die rather than face the penalty for failure. Hitherto, he had been more or less a director of the spy system. With the exception, perhaps, of the part he played in attempting to wreck the "Saraband," he had kept aloof from the actual espionage work. Now, he decided he must employ his energies in a direct attack upon the resources of the British Empire. The news of forthcoming movements on a large scale of troops from the North of England and Salisbury Plain suggested the great possibility of a striking example of German "frightfulness." He knew that the bridges and tunnels would be slenderly guarded, for the precautions adopted by the British Government at the commencement of hostilities had slackened. Accordingly, accompanied by an accomplice who had acted the part of servant at Tuilabrail Hall, he motored to a town within a few miles of the tunnel he had selected for his nefarious designs. It was a simple matter to bluff the proprietor of their hotel, while to excuse their late hours, von Eckenhardt resolved to send a wire from a place twenty miles distant, announcing the breakdown of the car. Then, returning to within half a mile of the tunnel, the two miscreants left the car in a field and walked stealthily towards the scene of their proposed operations. "Time I was out of this," thought Terence. He had no desire to be dragged into a long-winded coroner's inquest and the subsequent official inquiries. His evidence would not alter matters in the faintest degree. Von Eckenhardt would be identified without his help, and publicity he shrank from. No one attempted to question the lieutenant as to his name. In the excitement such a procedure never entered the heads of the military authorities. So, without attracting the least attention, Terence walked quietly away, scaled the embankment, crossed a couple of ploughed fields and struck a roadway. It was growing light as he entered the town. At a drinking fountain he washed the dried blood from his face, and having brushed the mud from his uniform, made his way to the railway station. Here, exciting little attention, he obtained a ticket to York; had breakfast at the station, and boarded the next express to Edinburgh. For the time being, at least, he had evaded the consequences of having performed another duty for King and country. CHAPTER XXIV. THE "STRONGBOW'S" PRIZE. Before eight on the following morning Terence rejoined the "Strongbow." The heartiness of his welcome almost banished the sense of disappointment he felt at having to serve on patrol duty instead of in a sphere of belligerent activity. Captain Ripponden honoured him by requesting his company at breakfast; Commander Ramshaw was enthusiastic at seeing his former fourth officer again; even the somewhat taciturn Lymore smiled grimly as he shook Aubyn's hand; while Chief-Engineer McBride delivered such a welcome in the broadest Scotch that he was seized with a fit of violent coughing that did not subside till he rushed to his cabin and drained a stiff glass of "Hie'land Dew." Kenneth Raeburn, who happened to be on watch in the engine-room on Terence's arrival, quickly sought out his chum as soon as he was off duty. "I hear you've been having a high old time," he exclaimed boisterously. "You always were a lucky chap, old man. Let's hear all about it." "I'll begin stern-foremost," began Terence, and to Raeburn's astonishment he related the circumstances that culminated in the death of Karl von Eckenhardt. "By Jove, old man, you'll be lionized over this business!—saving a troop train and settling that bounder." "I think not," rejoined Terence. "Fact is, I slipped away while they were all busy with the investigations. Didn't want to be detained over a rotten inquest. Don't believe in them myself." "Neither do I," asserted Raeburn. "I had to attend one once, and the whole thing struck me as an utter farce, beginning with the false evidence of the village bobby and finishing up with the doctor's report. I know for a fact that when he examined the body he was as drunk as a fiddler. But is there anything in the papers?" "Can't tell," replied Terence. "The bumboat hasn't come alongside yet. Anyway, I don't want you to say a word to anybody about the business; I want to be afloat. Any idea of the programme?" "Same old game," said Kenneth, with a grin. "Between the south of Iceland and the Faroe Islands. Hullo, here's the bumboat! Now for a paper." The "Strongbow" was lying about a mile from the West Pier of the port of Leith in company with half a dozen Admiralty craft of various sizes. Communication with the shore was maintained by means of frequent picquet boats, while tradesmen were allowed to supply luxuries to the ships by means of sailing craft known from time immemorial as bumboats. Terence showed no hurry in securing his copy of the paper, but his interest was none the less acute. Having received one he retired to the seclusion of the deserted smoking-room and opened the damp sheets. Quickly he scanned the news columns. Nothing escaped him, but there was no mention of the attempted outrage on the troop train. For good reasons, mainly to avoid creating any alarm on the part of the public and partly to conceal the fact from the German authorities that their master-spy had paid the penalty for his activities, the news had been completely suppressed by the Censor, although already eight-hundred soldiers were spreading the report amongst their comrades on Salisbury Plain. Terence gave vent to a chuckle of satisfaction. Nevertheless, he kept an anxious eye on the boats putting off to the ship, in case one of them contained a messenger bearing a demand for the lieutenant to report himself to the civil authorities. Nor did his uneasiness subside until the "Strongbow" weighed and proceeded towards her station. For weeks she cruised, save for the short visits she was compelled to pay when requiring coal and provisions. Yet nothing occurred to mar the uneventfulness of that lone patrol. The principal topic on board was now the question of the Dardanelles operations, of which reports were received by wireless. Amongst the officers there were two distinct parties in the matter of opinion. One, headed by Commander Ramshaw, expressed the belief in the success of the attempt to force the supposedly impregnable waterway. The other, though smaller, was represented by Lieutenant Lymore, who pessimistically regarded the operations as hopeless. "It's not the Turkish guns," he declared. "It's that rotten current setting down from the Marmora. I've been there, and I know what it's like. The Turks will be chucking cartloads of mines overboard, and there'll be no end of a mess up." The very next morning came the news of the totally unexpected appearance of the Super-Dreadnought "Queen Elizabeth." Ramshaw was so elated that he upset a cup of coffee over the ward-room tablecloth, and cheerfully paid up the sixpence demanded by McQuid, the assistant paymaster, who in his capacity of member of the Mess Committee was as sharp as needles in mulcting a delinquent. "That's the way," declared the commander. "Taking those forts in the rear. They'll be through within a week." A week passed, and still no news of the successful forcing of the Dardanelles. Then came the disquieting tidings of the sinking of the "Ocean," "Irresistible," and "Bouvet" and the disablement of the "Gaulois." "Just what I said!" declared Lymore. "It's those beastly mines. Now, if I had a prominent voice——" "You have, old man!" exclaimed the assistant paymaster. Lymore glared at the interrupter. "I'd chuck the idea of pushing up through the Narrows." "A pretty figure you'd cut," remarked McBride. "There's nae true Briton wha'd back down once he's taken on the wurrk." "I didn't mean that, my dear sir," continued the lieutenant. "I'd devote my energies in another direction. There's the Peninsula of Saros, about five miles in width and about eighty feet in height." "Well?" inquired the assistant paymaster. "I'd land a strong force under cover of the warship guns, whip together a regular army of navvies and all the steam navvies I could lay my hands on. In six weeks, and at a cost of less than that of the battleships we've already lost, there would be a canal twelve feet in depth from the Gulf of Saros to the Sea of Marmora. And, remember, both seas are practically tideless." "Sounds feasible, laddie," remarked McBride. "And then it would be a simple matter to send out the monitors. With their draught of seven feet they could easily pass through, as well as our earlier type of destroyers. Without paying the faintest attention to the Dardanelles forts the monitors could strike hard at Constantinople." "Lymore, you ought to be on the Board of Admiralty," said Commander Ramshaw gravely. "Instead of which I'm only a Reserve officer on the armed merchantman 'Strongbow'," added Lymore, with a grim smile. At that moment came a knock at the wardroom door, and a messenger announced that an accident had occurred in the engine-room. McBride was on his feet in an instant. The thought of anything happening to his beloved engines acted like a red rag to a bull. All the executive officers not actually on duty gathered round the engine-room hatchway, from which clouds of steam were issuing. It was as far as they dared go towards setting foot in McBride's domain. After ten minutes' wait, two stokers were sent on deck, both suffering from severe scalds. These were followed by Kenneth Raeburn, whose right arm was swathed in cotton waste soaked with oil. "Rotten luck, old man!" he exclaimed, with forced cheerfulness, as he caught sight of his chum, Terence. "It's not much as far as I am concerned; merely a slight burn." Aubyn could see by the expression upon the assistant engineer's features that he was suffering acutely. He did not know at the time that in addition to being severely scalded by the bursting of a steam pipe, Raeburn's wrist had been broken in a gallant attempt to rescue the two stokers as they lay, overcome by the hot steam, upon the floor of the stokehold. Terence accompanied his chum to the sick-bay, where the surgeon quickly made the discovery that the plucky officer had sustained injuries that would probably necessitate his being invalided out of the Service. Kenneth read the doctor's fears as clearly as if he had been bluntly told the truth. "Hard lines," he exclaimed. "Looks as if I'm to be chucked out of the old 'Strongbow'." "Only for a time, I hope," rejoined the surgeon. "Now, keep as steady as you can. I may hurt you a bit." Aubyn watched his chum's face as he proceeded to dress the doubly injured limb. Beads of perspiration stood out on the young assistant engineer's face, but not a sound escaped from his lips, but before the dressing was completed Kenneth fainted. "He's real pluck," declared the surgeon. "I dare not give him an anaesthetic, and the fracture of the wrist, complicated by the burns, made it a fearfully painful business for him. It's as well he's unconscious." "Will he be invalided?" asked Aubyn. "I'm afraid so," replied the medico. "The effect of the burn upon the tendons will probably result in a permanent weakening of the muscular action of the hand. I may be wrong—I hope so; but time alone will tell." For the next week Raeburn was confined to the sick-bay. At the end of that time he was able to get on deck, with his bandaged arm in a sling. The doctor suggested to Captain Ripponden the desirability of landing the patient at the first opportunity, and the captain concurred. Two days later a sail was reported. Of late the "Strongbow" had not fallen in with any craft, either British or neutral, and the news was hailed with mild excitement. Anything to relieve the monotony of the daily routine was welcome. As soon as the stranger sighted the British merchant-cruiser he turned tail and steamed as hard as he could. A thrill of expectancy took possession of the "Strongbow's" crew. They were out to chase something, and the mere fact that the unknown vessel had shown her heels went to prove that she was a of suspicious character. Calling every ounce of steam, Captain Ripponden stood in pursuit. It was the first time in her existence as an armed merchant-cruiser that the "Strongbow" was called upon to engage in a chase. Hitherto every craft she had subjected to examination had submitted passively. Now she was having a run for her money. Her hull quivered under the rapid pulsations of her powerful engines. The grey paint on her funnel casings blistered and peeled in large flakes, while for miles astern the thick cloud of smoke gave some indication of the activities of the "black squad" as they piled shovelful after shovelful of coal into the furnaces. Half an hour's chase showed that the "Strongbow" was overhauling her quarry. Twenty minutes later the merchant-cruiser dropped a plugged shell a hundred yards abeam of the fugitive. Even this was not sufficient to impress upon the stranger that the game was up, and it was not until the "Strongbow" planted another shot within fifty feet of the unknown vessel that she slowed down and hoisted Norwegian colours. The craft proved to be the "Roldal," a passenger and cargo steamer, of Bergen; but the fact that she had attempted to escape was in itself significant. "Boarding-party away." Into the boat tumbled fifteen bluejackets. In command was Lieutenant Terence Aubyn. "I protest against the outrage," exclaimed the Norwegian captain in good English, as the boat ran alongside the "Roldal," which was now hove-to within two cables' lengths of her successful pursuer. "This is a neutral ship." "And carries twenty passengers—citizens of the Republic of the United States of America, sonny," added a man standing by the gangway, whose "twang" would in itself be a sufficient indication of his nationality. "Sorry, captain," replied Terence, "but my duty compels me to board you." "Then a curse upon your duty!" retorted the captain. "Your Government will regret this outrage." "If you will kindly allow me to come on board," remarked the lieutenant courteously, according to his instructions, although he felt he would have given a month's pay to have spoken his mind, "I'll go through the formality of examining your papers, and if they are in order you will not be detained more than a few minutes." After intentional delay a tarry rope-ladder was lowered. Terence could have insisted upon having the accommodation-ladder let down, but instead he swarmed up the swaying perpendicular means of access, and followed by six of his men gained the "Roldal's" deck. Ignoring the studied rudeness of the passengers, one of whom loudly protested against the "darned interference of cocksure Britishers!" Terence requested the captain to produce the ship's papers. Grudgingly these documents were handed over. The "Roldal" was a Norwegian-owned vessel, bound from Boston, U.S.A., to Bergen. Her passenger list showed that there were nineteen American subjects and four Norwegian. Her cargo consisted of wheat and iron ware. Glancing down the passenger list Terence saw the name "Octavius P. Rand, of Norfolk, Virginia." Going to the door of the cabin he requested the owner of the name to step forward. There were looks of blank astonishment on the faces of eighteen of the American citizens. The nineteenth, the fellow who had protested so emphatically, began nudging a round-faced man in the group. "You are Octavius P. Rand?" inquired the lieutenant, and receiving an affirmative reply, conveyed by means of a decided inclination of the head, he asked the man a few questions of various places in Norfolk—a town with which Terence happened to be fairly well acquainted. It was quickly apparent that the so-called Octavius had never set foot in that part of Virginia. By his Teutonic accent he was either a German or a German-American. Of the others not one could speak English properly. They were eighteen Germans, domiciled in the United States, but on the way to the Fatherland to join the reserves. The nineteenth was a Yankee agent for a munition business in Hamburg. A peculiar buzzing from the wireless-room of the "Roldal" told Terence that the operators were at work. Ordering two armed seamen to follow him, the lieutenant peremptorily told the wireless men to cease operations, and having placed sentries outside the door, he returned to his work of examination. The Bills of Lading, Manifest, and Charter Party were palpable forgeries, while a survey of the hold showed that a quantity of the "iron ware" was copper ingots. "You must consider your ship under arrest," declared Terence to the still aggressive skipper. Without a word the captain flung himself into his cabin. He did not mind the ship being taken as a prize. His liberty would not be affected, since he was a Norwegian subject, while a substantial sum of money had already been paid to him by his employers, and the money had been sent by mailboat to his home. He had no interests at stake, but he was determined not to render his captors the slightest assistance in navigating the ship. Leaving a strong armed party on board the prize, Terence returned to the "Strongbow" and made his report. On the strength of this Captain Ripponden had no hesitation in taking possession of the ship. A wireless was sent to the Admiral of the Armed Merchant Fleet announcing the capture, and proposing that the "Strongbow" should escort the "Roldal" into Cromarty Firth. Promptly came the reply: "'Strongbow' not to escort prize. Send 'Roldal' into Cromarty Firth with a prize crew." "Very good," commented Captain Ripponden when the message was delivered. "Mr. Aubyn, you will please take command of the prize, and upon arrival at Dingwall hand her over to the authorities for disposal. Then bring your men on to Leith. We will be putting in there for coal on the 26th, and you can rejoin the ship on that date." The lieutenant saluted, and turned to go to his cabin and make brief but urgent preparations for his independent command. "One moment, Mr. Aubyn." Terence saluted and awaited the captain's pleasure. "You may as well take Mr. Raeburn with you," continued Captain Ripponden. "Dr. Hardiman seems to think that the sooner he is ashore and able to obtain hospital treatment the better. Now, carry on, and good luck to you." Ten minutes later Terence and Kenneth were ready to proceed to the prize. The assistant engineer, in spite of the fact that his right arm was still crippled and showed no immediate prospects of healing, was in the best of spirits and, unassisted, gained the stern-sheets of the boat amid a fire of farewell greetings from his brother-officers. "Give way!" ordered Terence. The men bent to their supple ash oars with a will, while the lieutenant steered towards the prize. "What's up, old man?" he asked, suddenly noticing a perplexed look on Raeburn's face. "Left my best pipe behind," was the dejected reply. "No, don't put back—'tis beastly unlucky." He faced aft, then using his sound hand as a speaking trumpet he shouted to another assistant engineer. "I say, Smithers, I've left a presentation pipe in my cabin. You might look to it, old man." "Right-o!" was the reply. "I'll send it off as soon as we arrive at Leith. You can rely upon getting it by Monday morning. So don't get into a tear." "If I don't, look out for squalls," retorted Kenneth. Smithers shouted something in reply that was evidently intended to be facetious, but by this time the distance between the "Strongbow" and the receding boat was too great for the words to be understood. "I'll never forgive old Hardiman for having me sent ashore," declared Raeburn. "It isn't as if I were properly crocked. I could do a trick in the engine-room even with a damaged hand. It's hard lines on Smithers and the others: they'll have to put in extra time." Terence did not reply. He knew that it would be a long time—perhaps never—before Kenneth Raeburn would be on duty in the engine-room of a British warship, or even on a merchantman. By the time the boat came alongside the "Roldal" those of the "Strongbow's" crew who had been left on board the prize had cleared away and lowered the accommodation-ladder. The Norwegians had stood sullenly aside, not a man stirring a finger to help. The skipper had made up his mind to adopt an attitude of passive resistance, and his crew took their cue from him. As soon as the rest of the prize crew boarded the ship and their scanty gear and provisions hoisted up, the boat returned to the "Strongbow." From the yard-arm of the latter a string of bunting fluttered in the breeze. It was the signal to part company. Then gathering way the armed merchantman circled to port, and steamed in a westerly direction. Left to himself Terence proceeded to take the necessary steps for the safeguarding of his charge. The Norwegian crew were ordered to keep for'ard; the officers were allowed the run of the deck aft, while the passengers, with the exception of the American, were placed under arrest as German subjects capable of bearing arms. Since the ship's officers bluntly refused to take any part in navigating the ship, Terence had a bed prepared in the chart-room. He knew that it meant forty-eight hours' duty. He was short-handed. With sentries posted at the wireless-room, the fo'c'sle, and over the prisoners, the number of men at his disposal was far too small. He could not compel the engine-room staff to work; so some of his own men were sent to the stokehold and engine-room under the charge of an experienced engine-room artificer. Yet in spite of the willingness of the volunteer stokers, it was impossible to keep a full head of steam. Eleven knots was the maximum speed that could, under these circumstances, be screwed out of the captured "Roldal." Before night the wind freshened. By six bells in the middle watch it was blowing a gale from the east'ard. The "Roldal" made bad weather of it. Broadside on to the direction of the wind she rolled like a barrel, shipping green seas amidships. Clad in oilskins Terence remained on the bridge throughout the terrible night. He mentally condemned the fate that put him in charge of a cranky tramp-steamer, when he might be sleeping soundly on board the weatherly "Strongbow." Hour after hour he stood gripping the rail of the erratically swaying bridge and peering through the welter of broken water and pitch-dark sky. For the first time in his nautical existence he realized the responsibility of being in sole charge of a ship and of the lives of men. Before it was dawn a hideous clamour, distinctly audible above the howling of the gale, came from somewhere for'ard. Terence strained his ears to try to detect by the nature of the sound what had gone adrift. It was the clanging of metal against metal. Watching their opportunity during the slight interval when the broken water receded from amidships, two of the prize crew dashed aft from the fo'c'sle and sprang up the bridge-ladder. "Starboard anchor broken adrift, sir," reported one. "It's hammering against the bows for all it's worth." Aubyn considered the problem for a few moments. To send some of the scanty crew to work upon the exposed fo'c'sle to secure and re-cat the recalcitrant anchor would be a difficult task even with sufficient hands and in a moderate sea. Better by far unshackle the cable and allow the anchor to go. He gave the order. Between the pounding of the heavy mass of forged steel, for the anchor weighed more than a ton, could be heard the blows of the mauls as the two seamen knocked out the pin of the shackle. Then, after the whirr of the chain through the hawse-pipe, the noise ceased. Terence knew that the anchor had plunged to the bottom of the Atlantic. A babel of shouting came from the forepeak. The Norwegian seamen were clambering to be let out. There was no need for Terence to ask why: the damage was already done, for the "bills" of the anchor had penetrated the hull below the water-line. The sense of danger had overcome their resolution to remain passive. They had attempted to plug the hole with hammocks, but the inrush of water was too great. Already the forepeak was flooded to a depth of three feet. Shouting orders to the engine-room for the bilge and condenser pumps to be brought into action, Terence bade the quartermaster turn the ship head to wind. Even as the "Roldal" swung round, a terrific sea slapped her quarter and wrenched away the rudder brackets. The strain upon the insufficiently supported rudder resulted in the carrying away of the sole means of steering, for being a single screw vessel it was not possible to control her by means of the propeller. Her only chance lay in forging ahead and trusting to luck that she did not fall off and wallow in the trough of the mountainous seas. Mechanically the quartermaster stood by the steam steering-gear. Years of implicit trusting to a vessel to answer to her helm had left such an impression upon the seaman that he could not realize that the sole means of keeping the vessel on her course was denied him. The "Roldal" was slowly turning to starboard. At one moment her stern would be deep in the waves, at another it would be high in the air, accompanied by a nerve-racking jar as the propeller, lifted from its natural element, raced wildly. Then, swish! A cascade of surging green water would sweep across the deck and pour in a smother of white foam to leeward. Another appalling crash aft caused Terence to turn his head. To his dismay he saw that one of the fore mainmast derricks, which had been triced up and housed in a perpendicular position, had broken adrift. Like a gigantic flail it swept from side to side, clearing rails and deck-fittings as easily as if they were made of matchwood. For a few seconds the heavy spars would bring up against the foremast iron wire shrouds supporting the mainmast, then, with the roll of the vessel, it would fly against the corresponding one on the other side, making the stay sing like a gigantic harp-string. A few minutes of that sort of game, Terence knew, would result in the carrying away of the shrouds and the loss of the mainmast. The lieutenant motioned to some of the men: his own crew and a few of the Norwegians were sheltering under the lee of one of the intact deck-houses. At all costs the erratic derrick must be secured. The men obeyed the unspoken order, for it would be useless even to shout in the midst of the tumult. Rigging a tackle they awaited an opportunity to slip a stout strip over the end of the terrible flail. Over came the spar, missing a man's head by a hair's-breadth. Two of the Norwegians sought to secure the derrick during its temporary inactivity, but an extra roll to leeward caused the spar to give an irresistible lurch. The next instant the men were hurled into the mountainous sea. Nothing could be done to save them. To lower a boat would be a worse than useless act. It would be simply throwing away human life in an impossible attempt to save two already doomed men. One of the unfortunate wretches was apparently stunned by the blow, for he was never seen again; the other could be discerned for a brief instant as he raised his arms in a mute despairing appeal for aid that was not humanly possible; then he was lost to sight in the chaos of the dark turmoil of broken water. Dawn was just breaking as a sudden rush of steam through the engine-room fidley, followed by the slowing down of the engines, announced the disconcerting fact that the water had put out the stokehold fires. Quickly losing way the "Roldal" rolled excessively, helpless in the trough of the raging sea. Hanging on to the rail like grim death the now thoroughly chastened Norwegian skipper mounted the bridge. Terence offered no objection. In the hour of danger little unpleasantnesses were lost sight of. They were now human beings fighting against a common foe. "Can you set canvas on her?" shouted Aubyn. The Norwegian understood. "Ay," he roared in reply. "I will see to that." Calling half a dozen of the men the skipper, accompanied by the first and second mates, made their way for'ard, not without imminent danger of being washed overboard. From the partly flooded sail-locker a storm staysail was produced. It had been rolled up for months, perhaps for years. Its hanks were stiff with rust. It took ten minutes' hard work to bend the canvas to the forestay; then slowly it was sent up and sheeted home. Gradually the vessel's head began to pay off. Under the pressure of the sail she would run before the wind. It was her one chance. Scudding before the mountainous seas the "Roldal" might keep afloat some hours longer, in which time she might be sighted by another ship and her crew given a fighting chance of being rescued. Without warning came a sharp, whip-like crack. The clew cringle of the sail had burst. With a series of terrific reports, like the bark of a quick-firer, the rotten canvas flogged itself to ribbons. In two minutes hardly a vestige of the staysail was to be seen. Once again, helpless and in imminent danger of foundering, now that the steam-pumps were useless, the ship rolled broadside on in the trough of the waves. The motion was now decidedly sluggish, her recovery slow. Another hour, or two at the very most, would see the end unless something totally unforeseen occurred to baulk the sea of its prey. "Land ahead!" Five miles to leeward appeared a chain of rugged cliffs, topped with treeless ground that culminated in a gaunt peak. Here and there were gaps of varying sizes, but whether these were inlets, or merely patches of low-lying ground, invisible owing to the curvature of the ocean, the lieutenant could not for the time being decide. All this while, from the moment the Norwegian operator thought it advisable to relinquish his attitude of passive resistance, the wireless had been sending out calls for aid; but, although Terence swept the horizon with his glasses, no smoke announced the approach of a succouring steamer. Presently a line of surf, as the tremendous seas hurled themselves against the rock-bound coast, became visible. The "Roldal" was evidently doomed either to founder or else be driven upon the bleak and frowning cliffs. Suddenly the quartermaster, forgetting disparity in rank in his excitement, grasped Terence by the arm. "Look, sir!" he exclaimed. "A submarine!"

Related documents

• Soldiers' Stories of the War#55241
• Conflicts and Instability in the Contemporary Security Environment#117151
• All for a Scrap of Paper: A Romance of the Present War#42846
• True Stories of the Great War, Volume 2 (of 6) Tales of Adventure--Heroic Deeds--Exploits Told by the Soldiers, Officers, Nurses, Diplomats, Eye Witnesses#53754
• True Stories of the Great War, Volume 4 (of 6) Tales of Adventure--Heroic Deeds--Exploits Told by the Soldiers, Officers, Nurses, Diplomats, Eye Witnesses#53925