WHAT THE MORNING BROUGHT.
DARKNESS still hung over the sea when the little company on the Perseus met at breakfast. Most of them were heavy-eyed and pale; but they made a brave effort at cheerfulness and tried to eat—never had a meal seemed so unreal and horrible. It was quickly over, and they trooped on deck.
Dawn was breaking. The German ship, no longer ahead, but a little to the starboard, seemed like a grim watch-dog. No signals had come from her as yet, and the Perseus was still under orders to go at full speed. No one knew where they were heading—their course had been peremptorily changed, and the passengers could form no idea of direction. They were like sheep driven in unfamiliar ways; over them all the sense of utter helplessness.
The grey light, creeping over the sea, showed them watching in groups—with all available wraps on, and rugs in readiness. In a corner Mrs. Field sat, one hand in her husband’s. He was holding their baby, his cheek resting against the soft little face. Major Edwards and his wife walked up and down a lonely deck-space, not speaking.
An officer made a tour of the ship presently, to see that no passengers were absent, and that all possible preparations had been made. He knew nothing, he said; they had kept by the German ship all night. Now they merely awaited the order to take to the boats; the enemy’s boat would, of course, come over to secure the prisoners, and probably to sink the ship by means of explosives placed in her hold, and setting her on fire. “Cheaper than torpedoes,” said the officer, “and less noisy. They’re shocking bad shots, too, on those armed merchantmen; and it would take a heap of shells to sink the old ship, because of her water-tight compartments. Much easier to blow her up from within.”
“Wretches!” said the old lady who knitted. She was still busy at her khaki muffler.
“It’s war,” said the young officer, hurrying off. On the lower deck the stewards and crew were mustered, awaiting inspection. After answering to their names they took their usual boat-stations, without the ordinary signal. The chief cook was cheery.
“No luncheon to cook!” quoth he, pleasantly. “And no need to abuse any one for not having cleared up properly after breakfast! Well, I’ve always heard that every dog gets a holiday one day in his life; it’s an ill wind that blows nowhere!” He rallied the butcher on his downcast mien.
“Think of all the good meat that’s going to the bottom!” said the butcher, gloomily.
“Wot I think is, that I won’t have to ’andle any of it,” said the gay cook. “Don’t you never get fed-up with the very thought of meat, butcher? Sometimes I dreams of it all night!”
“Ijjit!” said the butcher. He withdrew himself, and sat on the edge of a boat, wrapped in melancholy.
Slowly, faint streaks of pink showed in the eastern sky, and a pale flush crept upwards. The sun came out of the sea, as if reluctantly, unwilling to bring such a bitter morning.
“They’ll stop us soon, now,” Jim said. “Sure you’ve got all your wraps, Norah?” He had asked the question three times already, but Norah smiled up at him.
“Yes—and my nice old ’possum-rug,” she said. “Won’t it be a comfort in the boat, Jim?”
“It ought to help you to get a sleep,” Jim said. “Air-cushions packed? You’ll have to get Grantham to blow them up for you, since I won’t be there; he’s in your boat.”
“I can do them, thanks, Jim,” said Norah quickly. No one else should touch the cushions he had given her.
“Old duffer!” said Jim, very low—understanding well. They smiled at each other.
“I wish they’d end it,” Major Edwards was saying to his wife. “This waiting is worse than the actual saying good-bye!”
“I wonder why they don’t come,” she answered. “They only wanted daylight, didn’t they?
“Yes—and the sooner the boats get away, the better, I should imagine,” he said. They resumed their hard walk, up and down—up and down.
Overhead, on the bridge, there seemed a mild stir. The captain could be seen, watching the German ship through his glasses. Then he directed them to another point of the horizon, astern. Presently he disappeared, returning almost immediately with a telescope.
John West came round a corner at full speed.
“Smoke astern!”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know—another catch for the enemy, very likely. What luck for her if she gets two liners in one day!”
Everybody rushed to see; and made but little of the smudge of smoke, far on the horizon. They came back to watch the enemy. Only the Fields had not moved; Tommy was asleep, his face against his father’s.
On the German ship things were stirring. They could see hasty movements of men. Smoke began to pour from her funnels.
“They’re coming, I expect,” Jim said. He tightened his grip on Norah’s arm.
Mr. Dixon left the bridge, and came hurriedly aft. The passengers flocked round him.
“There’s a ship in sight,” he said, “and we think she’s a British cruiser. The enemy evidently think it, and they’re getting up steam.”
“Not going to stop?” a girl cried wildly.
“It doesn’t seem like it.” He hesitated. “We trust you to show no panic. It is quite possible that they may try to sink us without taking off the passengers—will you all get to your boat-stations quickly and put on the life-belts the stewards will serve out?”
There were white faces, but no panic. Men and women trooped to their stations, the former stooping to pick up children, and taking babies from their mother’s arms—arms that took them back hungrily as soon as the life-belts were adjusted. The boats were swung outward from the davits, their crews in their places; and for a few minutes a very agony of suspense held the ship silent. Every eye was glued to the German ship. People held their breath, watching the guns—each moment expecting a flash and an explosion.
A line of flags fluttered into place on the enemy’s rigging, and simultaneously the passengers glanced up at the bridge of the Perseus, where alone the message could be understood. They saw Captain Garth put his glasses down hurriedly and grip Mr. Dixon’s hand. Then he caught up a megaphone and turned to them, speaking through it.
“The enemy is leaving us,” came the shout. “They signal, ‘We will not destroy your ship on account of the women and children on board. You are dismissed. Good-bye.’ ”
A burst of cheering broke from the passengers. One girl fainted; men turned and wrung each other’s hands. Captain and Mrs. Field did not stir for a moment; then they rose, moved by the same instinct, and disappeared within the ship. Mrs. Field staggered as they went and her husband’s free arm caught her to him. Tommy had never stirred—his little face lay against his father’s cheek.
David Linton put his hand on his boy’s shoulder, speechless. Norah had laid her head on the rail, and her shoulders were shaking. Wally patted them hard.
“Buck up, old girl!” he said.
Flags had shot up on the Perseus, in courteous answer to the Germans. Mr. Dixon, appearing, was overwhelmed with congratulations and questions.
“It’s a British cruiser, right enough, and our friend the enemy has got to show a clean pair of heels,” he said. “We’re only keeping her back—her speed is knots ahead of ours. We’ll know more when we get the wireless going again—Grey is hard at work on the spare outfit already. We’ll hold on as we are for the present, to give the British ship any information we can.”
“There is no further danger?” queried the old lady with the khaki muffler.
“No, ma’am—none at all, that I know of.”
“What a good thing!” said she, placidly. She knitted on, without any pause.
“The captain sends you all his thanks,” Dixon continued, gazing at her in bewilderment and awe. “He says you can shed life-belts and, as the Germans put it, dismiss—it’s ‘as you were,’ in fact. There will be another breakfast in an hour’s time—I don’t fancy any one ate much of the first one. We’ll let you know any news we can,” and he hurried back to the bridge.
Already the German ship had forged far ahead of the Perseus.
“Aren’t her stokers having a time!” uttered Wally, as the smoke poured from her. “It’s going to take her all she knows to get away from that cruiser of ours.” He was unfastening Norah’s life-belt as he spoke, while Jim removed Mr. Linton’s. “Are you all right, Nor?”
“Oh, yes,” said Norah, turning a strained, white face. She looked up at Jim, and met his eyes, smiling at her. “It’s—it’s a bit of relief, isn’t it?”
Every one was trying to speak calmly, although, now that the long tension had been so suddenly relaxed, there was more appearance of emotion than in the moment of greatest danger. Two or three women had become hysterical, and the stewardesses and doctor were busy reducing them to common-sense. Mrs. Edwards had not spoken at all since the megaphone had cried their reprieve from the bridge. She rose after awhile and slipped away.
The British cruiser was coming up astern, at full speed. Already they could see the grey hull, business-like and determined.
“I expect we’ll signal to her as soon as the enemy is a bit further away,” Jim said. “I hope to goodness we’re going to see the fight!”
“Will there be a fight?” Norah asked, excitedly.
“Why I should think so. She isn’t out for her health,” Jim answered. “It will be a heartsome sight if she sinks the German, won’t it—and great Scott, how annoying it will be for Mr. Smith!”
“Whew-w!” Wally whistled. “I clean forgot our friend Smithy!”
“I doubt if he’s as happy now as he was on the Perseus,” said Jim, laughing. “That British ship is a flyer and no mistake. Nor, old girl, why don’t you go and get out of six or eight of those coats before the fun begins? You can’t wear them all day.”
“No, nor this hat,” said Norah, who was dressed for emergencies. “I’ll hurry back.”
Her way to her cabin led her past the Edwards’ and she glanced in, at the sound of sobbing. Mrs. Edwards, who had no children, had borrowed little Tommy Field. She was kneeling before the couch on which she had placed him, her face buried in his frock, her whole frame shaking with sobs. Tommy regarded her doubtfully—and then, finding her hair soft under his little hands, began gleefully to pull it down, gurgling with joy. Mrs. Edwards did not seem to notice—even though they hurt her; it may be that she found a comfort in the touch of the little hands. At the sight, Norah suddenly found that she, too, was sobbing. She ran on into her cabin.
When she passed, a little later, on her way back, she heard the murmur of voices, and saw Major Edwards bending over his wife. Somehow Norah knew that she was better, though she went by quickly, averting her eyes. Dimly within her, though she had not learned to put the thought into words, Norah knew that the world holds few women whom a baby cannot help—even a borrowed baby.
“Norah! Norah! Hurry up!”
Jim’s voice came ringing down the alleyways.
“I’m coming!” Norah shouted, beginning to run. “What’s the matter? Anything wrong?”
“No—only the British ship is coming up hand over fist, and signalling like mad. And the German is just tearing away, but I don’t believe she can do it.” Jim’s face was flushed and his eyes dancing. “Losh, but I wish I was on that cruiser! Isn’t it the mischief that our wireless isn’t ready! Come along—I was afraid you’d miss her.” He raced up the companion-ladder, Norah at his heels.
At the top Wally was prancing with excitement.
“Oh, hurry up, you two!” Each boy grasped one of Norah’s hands, and they tore along the deck. Every one was hanging over the rail, watching the British ship approaching. Beside the great bulk of the Perseus, or of the German ship, she seemed small. But she was built for speed and armed to the teeth.
Mr. Linton offered Norah his glasses—but she found that her hands were shaking too much to use them. The change from despair to relief had, indeed, affected every one; ordinarily grave people laughed and talked excitedly, and the younger passengers were like children released from school. No one would go down to the second breakfast. Stewards wandered round with trays of beef-tea, and people took cups absent-mindedly, and forgot to drink them. The decks, generally so spic-and-span, were littered untidily, since rugs and wraps had been flung down wherever their owners happened to be standing—and the stewards were themselves far too disorganised to perform ordinary duties. For one morning at least, the sober Perseus was “fey.”
“I’d give something to understand what she’s talking about,” John West exclaimed, watching the cruiser, which was exchanging rapid signals with the Perseus.
“Easy enough to guess,” Jim said. “They want to know anything we can tell them, that’s all. Look at us”—he glanced aloft—“flag-wagging our hardest. This is beginning to make up for last night!”
“Yes—you chaps must have had a pretty bad time,” West said. “I’m jolly glad rescue came—it wasn’t any too soon.”
“Oh, a miss is as good as a mile,” said Wally. “I’m too cheerful to think of last night. By Jove, I believe they’re coming near enough to talk! Isn’t it gorgeous!” He seized Norah, and they executed a wild polka down the deck—a proceeding which would ordinarily have attracted some attention, but just now drew not a single glance, except from the knitting old lady, who beamed over her muffler, and said, “Bless them, pretty dears!”—which remark filled Wally with wrath beyond anything he had manifested for the German ship. They came back to the others, outwardly sober, but still bubbling within.
“She’s the Sealark,” the second officer told them. “Light cruiser—about 6,000 tons; and her armament is a dream. I saw her in Portsmouth Harbour last July. I guess she’ll make things warm for the beggar.”
“How did she come—was it just luck?” Wally asked.
“Luck?—not it! She caught our ‘S.O.S.’ signals yesterday; a jolly good thing for us young Grey stuck to his wireless as long as he did. Watch her—she means hailing us, I think.”
From the bridge, a voice through a megaphone demanded perfect silence on the decks—and every voice was hushed as the cruiser came rapidly alongside, so close that greetings could easily be exchanged. Rapid questions and answers flashed from bridge to bridge. The Sealark was ready for action; they could see the cleared decks, and the guns trained in readiness. Bluejackets swarmed everywhere, cheery-faced and alert, and waved jovial greetings to the big liner. Norah found her heart thumping. War! this was war, indeed!
The cruiser drew away, exerting her utmost speed. Mr. Dixon came down to the passengers.
“She wants us to stand by to help with the wounded,” he said. “She’ll be engaging the German soon. No, I don’t think it will be much of a fight; the German is more than twice her size, but she’s only an armed merchantman, and the Sealark’s guns outclass hers hopelessly. We’re not going to run risks of shells, of course, but you’ll get some sort of a view.” He favoured Norah with a special grin. “I shouldn’t wonder if you got your friend Smith back, Miss Norah!”
It was half an hour later that the first dull roar of a gun echoed across the sea. The Perseus had altered her course, so that she should not be in the line of fire, and the three ships formed an irregular triangle. They saw the puff of smoke from the Sealark and then another, and another; but the German held on her way, unchecked, although the Sealark was rapidly overhauling her. Then she began to return the shots, and the watchers on the Perseus could mark by how much they fell short by the splashes as they fell. The British cruiser answered, her superior range giving her an immense advantage.
“Ah—she’s got home!”
Mr. Linton’s quick exclamation came just before a shout from the bridge. One of the funnels of the German ship had tilted suddenly, and remained looking curiously helpless, like a child’s damaged toy. The Sealark had found her range. Shot after shot crashed; another funnel fell sideways, and a great black stain showed near the stern where a shell had hit its mark. The ships grew nearer together.
“The German’s having engine-trouble, I believe,” Grantham hazarded. “Her speed is falling off.”
“By Jove, she’s hit the Sealark!”
Almost simultaneously with two vicious puffs of smoke from the German guns there came a commotion on the deck of the British cruiser. Through the glasses could be seen marks of damage, and one gun spoke no more. But, as if in swift retaliation, a series of crashing shots from the Sealark shook the air—and the enemy ship seemed to shiver and pause. A gaping hole showed in her side. Again the British guns roared across the water.
“She’s done,” Mr. Linton said.
The German ship was quite done. She listed slowly, more and more of her hull becoming visible as the deck, with its litter of wreckage and broken funnels, sloped away from them. Gushes of vapour that might have been either smoke or steam poured from her; and then, as the watchers held their breath in suspense, blue wreaths of smoke curled lazily upwards. She was on fire and sinking.
“The Sealark is signalling to us,” the second officer said. “We’re wanted—it’s full steam ahead. But she won’t last until we get there.”
The guns of the British cruiser had ceased. A moment before she had been nothing but a death-dealing machine; now she suddenly became an instrument of mercy, dashing forward to save life. The Perseus was no less ready. The water foamed from her bows, as she bore down upon the sinking German.
“She’s going!” A score of voices raised the cry.
The German warship tilted still further. Then she gave a long, lazy roll, like a sea-monster seeking rest; her stern lifted, and she dived down, head-first. So quickly was it done that it seemed a dream; one moment the great ship held every eye—the next, and she was gone, and scarcely a ripple marked the place of her sinking.
As she went, black forms dropped from her, looking, at that distance, like a swarm of flies. They could be seen faintly in the smooth water, tiny dots upon the surface of the slow swell.
“Oh—hurry! hurry!”
Norah did not know that she had spoken. Her eyes were glued to those helpless black specks.
The boats were already swung out. As the Sealark and the Perseus came near the broken wreckage and bobbing heads, both ships slackened, and the boats shot down to the water. There was a moment’s delay as the ready oars came out and they drew away from the side; then they leaped forward, every man bending in real earnest to his work. Once among the wreckage, all but two oars were withdrawn, and the rowers leaned over, intent on their work of mercy. They lifted out one dripping form after another. Their cries of encouragement drifted back to the ships.
“I don’t think one other head is showing,” said Jim at last. “Poor beggars—what a crowd have gone down!”
They scanned the sea with keen eyes. There was nothing to be seen but spars and littered wreckage.
“The boats are coming back,” Norah said, her voice shaking. Not to look had been impossible; but it would be as impossible ever to forget what she had seen.
They came back with their burden of flotsam and jetsam; it was pitifully small, compared to the number who had been on the ship. Some were wounded, many exhausted from shock and immersion. These were busy times for the doctor and his assistants on the Perseus. The Sealark had but little room for prisoners and the sick, and was glad to turn them over to the great empty liner.
“We’re practically a floating war prison,” said Mr. Dixon. They had exchanged final greetings with the British man-of-war, and the Perseus had resumed her course to the Canaries. “The two officers who called yesterday are with us, bless their jovial hearts! They aren’t wounded—and they’re not so supercilious either. An exceedingly wet and cold man can’t very well be supercilious, even if he’s a German—and those chaps were half-drowned rats when we pulled ’em in.”
“What about Mr. Smith?” Wally asked.
Mr. Dixon shook his head.
“No sign of him—gone down, poor little man. It’s just as well, I suppose; he’d have hated not getting back to his Fatherland. And I, at least, am devoutly glad that I haven’t to give up some of my leave to a trial in England.” Mr. Dixon gave a cavernous yawn. “I haven’t had any sleep since the night before last, and I’m going to turn in; and people who look as tired as you, Miss Norah, should do the same.”
“I don’t think I’m tired,” said Norah vaguely. The chief officer laughed.
“Put her to bed, Jim,” he said, nodding his head. “We’ve enough German patients without a good Australian as well. And you might turn in yourself, by way of experiment—you look as if you could do with a sleep. I’m going to dream that I’m a prisoner on that beastly German boat, for the pleasure of waking up and finding I’m not—I advise you to do the same!”