CHAPTER XVIII.
DERELICTS.
The reason for this order was obvious to the officers of the "Livingstone." The "Lion" had been disabled: whether by torpedo (for several of the enemy submarines had been sighted) or by shell-fire they knew not. But she was sufficiently mauled for it to be necessary for Admiral Beatty to shift his Flag, first to the torpedo-boat-destroyer "Attack" and afterwards to the "Tiger" as she was returning from the sinking of the "Bluecher."
With her engines out of order, and very much down by the head the crippled "Lion" shaped a course to the north-west, making for the Firth of Forth. Finding that the damage to the machinery grew worse, the badly hit battle-cruiser had to appeal for assistance, and was taken in tow by the "Indomitable." Speed was now out of the question, while there was great risk of both battle-cruisers falling victims to the lurking German submarines. Accordingly one flotilla of destroyers was detailed to escort the "Indomitable" and her tow, another was ordered to reconnoitre to the north-east and check any attempt on the part of hostile light-cruisers and torpedo-boats from menacing the crippled "Lion."
The "Livingstone" was one of the flotilla told off for the latter service. Hers was a hazardous undertaking, for ahead lay the almost impregnable island of Heligoland, on her starboard hand was the German torpedo-boat station of Borkum, while it was known that an ill-defined mine-field was somewhere in this part of the North Sea. Presumably the "Derfflinger" and her consorts, when they made a somewhat abrupt change of course while screened by the smoke of the destroyers, had put the mine-field between them and the British. The supposition was mainly responsible for the breaking off of the action and for the escape of the German battle-cruisers.
In line abreast the various units of the British destroyer flotilla pursued their course, an interval of nearly a mile separating each boat. At two p.m. they were within sight of the rocky plateau of Heligoland, yet no hostile craft hove in sight. The Zeppelin which had frustrated the humane intentions of the British tars when the "Bluecher" sank, was just visible as it made for its lair. Away to the eastward, where a mist was lying over the Frisian Islands, the thick clouds of smoke from the fugitive battle-cruisers was rapidly merging into the bank of fog.
"May as well get something to eat, Aubyn," remarked Lieutenant Gilroy. "Nothing like taking advantage of a lull in the performance."
Terence willingly acquiesced. Now that the excitement of the engagement was past he was beginning to feel peckish so the two officers went below.
"Not a bad day's work," remarked the sub., as he attacked a tin of biscuits and a cup of chocolate.
"H'm, no," replied Gilroy. "We ought to have bagged the lot, and we should had it not been for the 'Lion' being crocked."
"I expect the Press will make a song about our not having done so," remarked Aubyn. "It's easy for the arm-chair critics to expound theories of what ought to be done."
"Let 'em," declared Gilroy grimly. "If I had my will I'd ship a few of these professional advisers—people who are ever ready to tell their mother's mother how to extract the contents of a bird in embryo—and let them see what's going on. I'll bet they'd change their tune and not ask what the Navy is doing. It's impossible to ram into their thick heads that sometimes it pays to sacrifice a small craft in order to enable a battle-cruiser to get a sniff in. That's what we are doing now."
Aubyn looked at his companion in surprise.
"Fact," continued Gilroy. "We have information that a German flotilla of light-cruisers and destroyers is out: independently of the crowd we sent home as fast as their engines could take them. What we have to do is to get in touch with them, lure them on, and let our light-cruisers come up and bag the lot. If the German boats won't come out—and they are vastly superior in number to our lot—there are two conclusions. Either they fear a trap, or else they cannot negotiate their own mine-field. If they do pluck up courage and come for us, we've got to make a running fight for it, and at the same time watch these fellows' course."
"So, apart from screening the 'Lion' we have to discover the passage through the enemy's mine-field?"
"Exactly," answered Gilroy. "The information is most necessary, although I cannot at present say to what use it will be put. Hullo! there's the 'Action.'"
Both officers tore up the narrow companion to find that the periscope of a submarine had been sighted on the port-bow. Evidently the skipper of the "unterseeboot" had a great respect for the ramming powers of British destroyers; for, without attempting to discharge a torpedo, he promptly dived to such a depth that on the "Livingstone" passing just ahead of the swirl that marked the submarine's disappearance no tell-tale oil rose to the surface.
By this time the mist had increased; the nearmost British destroyer was just visible. The rest were swallowed up in the bank of haze. The flotilla had changed course and was now running S.S.W. or practically parallel with the chain of islands extending from the mouth of the Weser to the Dollart.
Suddenly out of the mist loomed the outlines of four grey torpedo-boats: the forerunners of the Borkum flotilla. On they came at a good twenty-six knots, the smoke pouring from their funnels and obscuring any hostile craft that might be following in their wake.
Boat for boat the "Livingstone" and her consorts were vastly superior to the German craft. An action would result in annihilation of the enemy unless the element of luck favoured the weaker side. But it was not a time for fight. The first mission of the British destroyers was to lure their foes, especially the supporting light-cruisers, well away from the sand-banks and shallow mined channels protected by the heavy guns of Borkum.
Round swung the "Livingstone," heeling outwards till her rail was almost awash: then steadying herself on her course, steamed due west. Although the after 4-in. gun was trained on the leading German boat, no order was given to fire. Shells began to hurtle past, as the foremost enemy vessel attempted to wing her foe. It was tantalizing for the "Livingstone" to be under fire with the knowledge that her armament could dominate that of her enemy, but forbearance was desirable: it was a part of the grim game.
Suddenly a terrific glare flashed before Terence's eyes, followed by an ear-splitting report. He was dimly conscious of clapping his left hand over his eyes and feeling blindly with his right for some support that was not forthcoming. His feet gave way under him, and he fell—not upon the slippery deck of the destroyer but into the sea.
It was in a sense fortunate that he fell in a huddled posture; had his body been rigid the shock on striking the surface from a craft travelling at close on thirty knots might have broken his back. Winded by the blow and the sudden immersion he sank, swallowing mouthfuls of salt water as he vainly gasped for breath.
After a seemingly interminable time he knew by the light filtering through the water that he was rising to the surface. Up he came, spluttering and gasping. His thick clothing still retained air and afforded a certain amount of buoyancy, enough to counteract the weight of his sea-boots.
He looked in the direction of the "Livingstone." She was by this time several hundred yards off and still running at a high speed. Even had his fall been noticed he knew that it would have been impossible for the destroyer to stop and pick him up. It was one of the grim realities of warfare. In the piping times of peace there would be a cry of "Man overboard," a rapid working of the engine-room telegraph, and a prompt backing and going easy astern of the engines, while the boat was being hastily lowered to effect a rescue. But now, although the loss of a man overboard was to be deplored it was the fortune of war. Under the circumstances no captain would hazard his ship in the presence of the enemy to save life.
Terence also knew that there was no chance of rescue by the German boats. For one thing it was an established fact that the disciples of "kultur" had never been credited since the declaration of hostilities with having saved a single British sailor, be he officer or man. Again, it was not to be expected that the German destroyers would cease in their efforts to overhaul a supposedly fugitive craft to pull one of the hated English out of the sea.
At a distance of about ten yards from the swimmer the leading German torpedo-boat passed. The "wash" wellnigh overwhelmed him, for by this time his clothes were becoming saturated and his limbs numbed by the cold. He was seen by several of the crew, most of whom regarded him with stolid indifference, while one or two openly jeered at him.
The desire for life was strong within the young sub. He realized that his case was hazardous in the extreme. More than likely cramp—the dreaded foe of the swimmer—would seize him; if not there would be a struggle for life until, numbed by the cold, he would sink through sheer inability to move his limbs. Yet he meant to fight strongly for his life.
"I must first get rid of my boots," he thought, at the same time ruefully reflecting that they were practically new, and had cost him a couple of guineas only a few days ago.
Turning on his back Terence began to fumble with his footgear. His fingers had little or no sense of feeling.
"All right, sir; hold up—I'm coming. You're saved," shouted a voice.
Swimming towards him and pushing a lifebuoy was Stairs, the bluejacket whose gratitude he had gained by letting him off with a caution instead of putting him in the captain's defaulter's book. The devoted man, seeing Terence blown over the side by the explosion of a hostile shell, had without hesitation seized a lifebuoy and had plunged into the sea with the laudable intention of either saving his officer or sharing his fate. Swift though he was in making up his mind, the "Livingstone" had put a hundred yards or so between her and Terence ere the man took the fateful leap.
Swimming strongly, and pushing the buoy before him he took nearly five minutes in getting within easy hailing distance of his superior officer. Even in that moment of peril, when he realized that the chances of the pair of them were most remote, Stairs was governed by the regulations.
"'... approach the drowning person, assure him with a loud and firm voice that he is safe,'" he repeated to himself. "It's a blessed lie, but regulations is regulations, so 'ere goes. All right, sir; I'm coming. You're saved."
Had Stairs continued to act strictly in the spirit of the before-mentioned regulations, he would have proceeded to "take fast hold of the hair of his head, turn him, as quickly as possible on his back, give him a sudden pull and this will cause him to float." But fortunately the seaman, having committed one absurdity, wisely refrained from doing another. Seeing that Terence was afloat, he contented himself with pushing the lifebuoy into his grasp.
"What on earth possessed you to jump overboard?" asked Aubyn.
"Never you mind, sir, beggin' your pardon," replied Stairs. "Keep your precious breath, sir you'll be wanting it afore long."
The advice was sound, for by this time two more destroyers had passed, one on either side of the submerged men, and the turmoil of the water as they tore past had the effect of stopping any attempt at conversation. Well it was that Aubyn had hold of the lifebuoy, otherwise the buffeting of the waves would have sent him under—perhaps for the last time.
Just then a large object shot up from under the water about fifty feet from the two men. It was part of a British whaler, possibly abandoned previous to going into action, or it may have floated from one of the torpedo-cruisers during the earlier stages of the war.
The third German destroyer had cut through and had passed completely over it. The greater part of the stern sheets had been torn off, but there was a considerable amount of buoyancy by reason of the copper air-tanks, some of which were yet intact.
"Good business, sir!" exclaimed Stairs. "See yon wreckage? Strike out, sir; I'll give you a hand. We'll fetch it yet."
Before Terence had covered half the distance "striking out" was beyond him. All he could do was to support himself by allowing his arms to hang inertly on the curve of the buoy. For propulsion he had to rely upon the powerful and seemingly tireless efforts of his brawny companion.
Awaiting his opportunity Stairs scrambled through the jagged gap in the wrecked boat, then, bringing himself against the after thwart he hauled Terence into a position of comparative safety.
Even with the weight of the two men the buoyancy of the airtight tanks was sufficient to keep the gunwale a foot above water. Within the wrecked boat the water was about up to the thwarts, while the sea dashed continuously over the frail planking and surged violently up and down the bottom boards.
Holding Terence by the arm, for the sub. was now incapable of stirring a finger to save himself, Stairs cautiously raised himself and looked around. The destroyers, both British and German, were now lost in the mists. Everywhere was an unbroken stretch of water. The waves, although not violent, were short and steep.
He realized that there were two great perils. The waterlogged craft might be capsized in the trough of the waves, in which case the two men would either be stunned by the heavy woodwork or else have to choose between drowning or suffocation under the upturned boat. Nor was the danger of perishing from cold and exposure to be lost sight of. Drenched to the skin, without food and water, and drifting about in a waterlogged craft on the North Sea in mid-winter, their condition was an unenviable one.
"Sit up, sir, and swing your arms," said Stairs, with pardonable sternness.
Terence tried to obey, but the nerveless condition of his arms, additionally handicapped by his wet clothing, resulted in a feeble effort; but that was by no means satisfactory to his devoted companion.
Grasping the sub. by the elbows Stairs began to work his arms in an energetic manner. Before long Aubyn began to feel the blood circulating, while the exercise also served to warm the chilled body of his rescuer.
"Avast there!" exclaimed the seaman, after five minutes' steady performance. "I'll take a spell a bit and then carry on. It's our one chance."
Terence agreed. He, too, realized that only by exercise could they hope to retain warmth in their bodies. Dimly he found himself wondering was it worth while to prolong their acute physical distress, with no apparent chance of rescue.
For nearly an hour Stairs repeated his operations at frequent intervals, but it was evident that, robust and strongly built as he was, even his bodily strength could not hold out much longer.
Neither man spoke during that fearful hour. More than once Terence wanted to ask the seaman why he had deliberately risked almost certain death on his behalf. He was not conversant with the circumstances under which Stairs had leapt from the "Livingstone's" deck, but from the fact that he arrived on the scene with a lifebuoy, the sub. concluded that it was not by accident but by design. Yet, in spite of his desire to question the man and to thank him for his gallantry and devotion, Terence was unable to frame a sentence, so utterly acute was his distress.
From time to time Stairs would stand upright, at the imminent risk of losing his balance and being thrown out of the water-logged boat, and scan the horizon—or rather the ill-defined blending of sea and sky. In the vain hope that the British destroyers had vanquished their foes and would put back to look for the missing officer, the seaman kept a sharp lookout at regular intervals, but nothing save an unbroken waste of water met his gaze.
He knew also that in a water-logged craft and without means of propulsion, the rate of drift would be extremely slight. Hours, perhaps days, would elapse ere the wrecked boat grounded on the sand-banks fringing the German and Dutch chain of islands on the east coast of the North Sea.
So intent was Stairs in looking for a distant sail that he failed to notice a pole-like object appearing above the surface at less than eighty yards from the boat. Terence noticed it; more, he remarked a slight "wash," showing that the object had a forward as well as a vertical movement.
"A periscope! he exclaimed, finding his voice in the excitement of the discovery.
"Where, sir?" asked Stairs, with incredulity in his tones, for he imagined that the sub. had become lightheaded in his distress. Then following the direction indicated by Aubyn's limp fingers, he added, "You're right, sir; it's a blessed submarine. I'll bet my last tanner the brutes will poke charley at us, and sheer off. If I'd my rifle, by smoke! I'd pepper that blessed periscope."
In his indignation the seaman began to search the bottom of the boat for a likely missile with which to vent his rage upon the modern pirates; but finding none he folded his arms and awaited events.
Like the wary water-rat that cautiously reconnoitres before it leaves its hole, the submarine surveyed the seascope. For a brief instant the eyepiece of the periscope was turned in the direction of the waterlogged boat, then, having slowly and deliberately swept it all round the compass, it again scrutinized the two unfortunate men.
[Illustration: "'She's one of ours!' exclaimed Stairs. 'Hurrah! we're saved.'">[
The submarine was in no great hurry to rise to the surface. Her commander had heard of decoys being employed to lure an inquisitive craft within range of a distant quick-firer, so he used discretion. Finally, having come to the conclusion that it was safe to ascend, the submarine resumed her diagonally upward motion, and with the green water pouring from off the fore side of her conning-tower and surging from her narrow deck she emerged to the light of day.
"She's one of ours!" exclaimed Stairs. "Hurrah! sir, We're saved."