CHAPTER XXX
A Duel to the Death
Rushing upon the bridge of the foundering vessel, Fordyce looked around for signs of R19. The submarine, giving the sinking craft a wide berth, was slowly forging ahead to stand by to pick up her boat. At the present moment the intercepting hull of the largest tramp hid her from view.
"Ahoy!" shouted the Sub the moment R19's bows drew clear. "Enemy destroyer bearing east by south, distance two miles."
"Aye, aye," roared Mr. Macquare in reply. "Stand by; we'll pick you up later."
Keenly Fordyce watched the visible evolutions of the submarine as, cleared away for diving, she sped through the waves without attempting to submerge. To do otherwise would be running the risk of fouling some of the wreckage from the sunken merchantmen. Stockdale was making sure of his "ground" before seeking cover.
Up pelted the German torpedo-craft, the spray flying from her bows and sizzling in clouds of steam against her red-hot funnels. Sighting the submarine just as the latter was gliding beneath the waves, the hostile vessel altered helm and bore down upon the spot where R19 had disappeared, firing ineffectually with every gun that could be brought to bear ahead.
To Fordyce it seemed as if the destroyer shuddered under a terrific impact. He was more than half afraid that her sharp stem had sent R19 to her doom. Then came the splash of the mark-buoy being hurled overboard to indicate the supposed position of the submarine, followed by the detonation of a "depth-charge".
"Best hook it, sir," suggested Chalmers. "This old tub won't keep afloat much longer."
So engrossed was the Sub in the spectacle of the German destroyer searching for her prey that he had entirely overlooked his own peril. Already the tramp's taffrail was level with the water, while her deck betwixt the poop and the rise amidships was flooded.
Alongside the entry-port the whaler's crew were "fending off" to prevent the boat being pinned against the side by the inrush of water.
"Give way, lads!" ordered Fordyce as he sprang into the waiting boat.
Before the whaler had been rowed a distance of fifty yards a portion of the tramp's deck blew up under the irresistible pressure of compressed air. A rush of steam and smoke followed, and the doomed vessel, her last reserve of buoyancy gone, sank like a stone.
It was now moonlight. A mile or so to the east'ard could be discerned the misty shape of the grey-painted destroyer. She was turning to starboard, with the intention of retracing her course in order to observe traces of her presumably shattered foe.
"Keep down, all hands," cautioned Fordyce.
The men, boating their oars, crouched on the bottom boards. There was just a chance that the Huns would overlook an apparently empty boat adrift in the midst of a medley of flotsam, for the sea all around was covered with woodwork of various shapes and sizes.
A minute passed in long-drawn suspense. There were audible indications that the German destroyer was bearing down. Then the tension was broken by a terrific roar, the rush of water being hurled violently into the air and falling again.
Raising his head above the gunwale, Fordyce gave vent to a shout of surprised gratification. A slowly-dispersing cloud of smoke marked the spot where the enemy craft had been. Broken asunder by the explosion of a torpedo, she was now lying on the bed of the Baltic.
"One more feather in the Old Man's cap," exclaimed a bluejacket, his enthusiasm outweighing his sense of respect in thus referring to his skipper.
"Give way!" ordered the Sub, as he grasped the yoke-lines. "There's someone in the ditch."
The men bent to their oars with a will. At the prospect of saving life their resentment for the Hun and all his works vanished.
They had not far to row before they entered the zone of acrid fumes, for at the moment of the torpedo's impact the destroyer had lessened the distance to about a quarter of a mile of the then motionless whaler.
The moonbeams, penetrating the thinning veil of vapour, were scintillating upon the still-agitated waves, while silhouetted against the pale-yellow light were the outlines of the head and shoulders of a swimmer.
"In bow!"
The bowman boated his oar, and, grasping the gunwale, leant overboard with his right hand outstretched.
With the assistance of a comrade the bowman hiked the rescued German into the boat. He was capless, his face was black with burnt powder. He seemed dazed and incapable of speech.
"There's another 'Un!" shouted the bowman. "On your port bow, sir; a-hangin' on to that bit o' wreckage."
The second swimmer was in a desperate state. He was almost destitute of clothing, while his flesh was badly charred by the blast of the explosion. As he was being lifted into the boat it was noticed that his left leg was hanging limply, being all but severed above the knee by a sliver of metal.
Skilfully the British tars proceeded to place a rough-and-ready tourniquet round the injured limb, while, fortunately for himself, the wounded man lost consciousness directly he was hauled into the boat.
"There she is, sir," announced Chalmers, as the twin periscopes of R19, throwing up feathers of spray, emerged from beneath the surface. Followed the conning-tower, the bow portion of the deck, and then, like a huge porpoise, the rest of the hull until the submarine was awash.
"Look alive, Mr. Fordyce!" shouted the Lieutenant-Commander, as he emerged through the conning-tower hatchway. "There may be some other Hun craft knocking around. What's that—survivors?"
"Two, sir; one badly wounded."
The rescued men were lifted on board and passed below. Then, after cruising round and making sure that there were no more of the destroyer's men alive, the humane Stockdale gave orders for the submarine to submerge once more.
"You bagged her all right, sir," remarked the Sub.
"Yes, the silly ass played into our hands, absolutely," replied the Hon. Derek. "It was the result of taking too much for granted, I suppose. Have you found out the number of the boat?"
"No, sir; but I will ascertain."
Fordyce made his way to the place where the survivors were being tended by their late antagonists. The German with the broken limb looked on the point of death, while the other, who had lost consciousness upon being carried below, was found to be suffering from several contusions to the back and ribs.
"'E's an officer, sir," reported one of the men, pointing to the discarded uniform of the Imperial German Navy.
Fordyce examined the sleeve of the coat. By the distinctive rings he knew that the prisoner was the skipper of the torpedoed destroyer—a kapitan-leutnant, whose rank corresponded with that of lieutenant-commander of the British navy.
"Wonder what he's done to get this?" mused the Sub, holding up the decoration known as the "Ordre pour le Mérite". "Rum-looking josser, too," he continued, studying the coarse features of the man; "brutal even while unconscious. Hallo! Now what's wrong?"
From for'ard came a succession of violent crashes, mingled with blood-curdling shrieks and unmistakably strong British epithets. Quick to act, Fordyce rushed from the compartment and hurried towards the scene of disorder.